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GIANNELLA 


GIANNELLA 


BY 

Mrs. HUGH FRASER 

M 



ST. LOUIS, MO., 1909 
Published by B. Herder 
17 South Broadway 




Copyright, 1909 
by 

Mrs. Hugh Fraser 


n.A 247234 

I SEP 13 1909 

- ' « <■ 

I .i 
f ( I 
' < ' 

— BECKTOLD — 

PRINTING AND BOOK MFG. CO. 

ST. LOUIS, MO. 



s 


GIANNELLA 




CHAPTER I 


A ND now, what are we to do about the child? 
jr\^ Cannot you think of something, Carl ? ” 

Carl stooped down to disentangle some very small 
fingers which had been busy with his bootlaces, and as 
the baby crawled away to find fresh mischief he 
straightened himself and watched her with a ruefully 
puzzled expression. 

‘‘ Upon my word, Hans,’^ he said at last, I can 
think of nothing but the Pieta. It seems hard, but all 
the boys are as poor as ourselves. The only married 
one is Sigersen, and his wife is away — and not much 
good when she is at home. The Vice-consul said we 
had better put the child in the Rota — and I am afraid 
that is what we shall have to do. The nuns will keep 
any name and address they find pinned on her clothes, 
and if things go better with us, or if it should turn out 
that poor Brockmann had any relations, and they ever 
inquire for her, we shall know where to look for her.” 

The speakers were two Scandinavian painters, 
young and kind and poor, members of the little bro- 
therhood which, year in, year out, finds its way from 
the shores of the bleak North Sea to the blue and 


1 


2 


GIANNELLA 


gold of the Mediterranean, to the marbles and the 
ilexes, to the campagna and the hills; and have taken 
root in the classic, teeming soil which is Rome. A 
friend and comrade, Niels Brockmann, had died a 
day or two before this little colloquy took place, and 
he had left behind him a dismantled studio, some good 
but unfinished studies, and a baby girl whose pretty 
young mother had not survived her birth. Brock- 
mann had idolized the flaxen-haired mite for one year, 
and then had ended his existence by catching a deadly 
chill while sketching in some beautiful but malarious 
spot. The brotherhood had nursed him loyally and 
buried him decently, but they were hopelessly per- 
plexed as to how to dispose of his daughter. Most 
of them lived on two or three pauls a day, everything 
else being saved for studio rent and artists’ materials ; 
and when one was lucky enough to sell a picture, there 
was a jolly supper for everybody at the Lepre, with 
mighty songs and much beer ; and then what remained 
of the money was unhesitatingly divided among the 
poor devils who were most deeply in debt to landlord 
or colorman. 

There was no room for a baby in that straitly- 
lodged, big-hearted community, and Hans Straven- 
kilde had been driven to lay the case before the 
Vice-consul of his nationality, hoping that he would 
undertake the charge. But the official, a banker and 
a Roman, refused to be responsible for the child in 
any way. Indeed, he was indignant at the mere sug- 
gestion. He told Hans that if he were to take on all 
the destitute orphans that pauper foreigners left be- 


GIANNELLA 


3 


hind them, he would soon turn his house into a found- 
ling hospital. And what was the Pieta for, but just 
such waifs, he would like to know? Pin the child’s 
name on her clothes and drop her into the Rota. 
Good-morning. 

And Hans had departed and walked home, much 
depressed. He had stopped a moment on his way, 
to look at the cushioned dumb-waiter open to the 
street in the wall of the Pieta; he knew that one or 
other of the nuns was stationed behind it through 
every minute of the night and day, to turn it inwards 
the instant a child had been laid on the pillow, to 
gather the poor abandoned little thing into safety and 
fellowship with many hundreds of others who were 
sheltered behind those huge charitable walls, and were 
better fed, better loved, better educated than most 
of them would ever have been in their own homes. 
Hans knew all about it, yet his heart ached at the 
thought of leaving this particular baby there, and 
Carl fully shared his unwillingness. He had just 
picked up Giannella and was making funny faces at 
her, so that the little creature first seemed inclined 
to cry; then she caught the smile in her tormentor’s 
blue eyes and laughed aloud. 

At this a thin, dark woman in peasant’s dress 
raised herself from where she had been gathering 
up some Jittered papers in a corner, and came towards 
the young men, holding out her arms to the child, 
who at once sprang into them with the confidence of 
long familiarity. The woman smoothed down the 
rumpled skirt, wiped off the dust which the small 


4 


GIANNELLA 


pink palms had gathered on the floor, and then stood 
looking at the two friends of her late master. They 
had been speaking in their own language, but she knew 
they were talking about the baby, and she had caught 
the words “ Pieta ” and Rota.” 

Well,” she said, in a deep masculine voice, “ and 
what becomes of this one ? ” 

‘‘That is a hard question, Mariuccia,” Hans re- 
plied. “ There is nobody who wants her, except we 
poor devils of artists who have nowhere to put her 

— and the Signor Console told us we had better take 
her to the Pieta.” 

He had turned and looked out of the window as he 
spoke, and Carl followed his example. Neither cared 
to meet the woman’s glance; they both knew how she 
loved the child. 

Mariuccia’s brows met in a dark line and her eyes 
flashed angrily. “ A fine piece of advice,” she cried. 
“ That consul is an animal, without heart. The Pieta 
indeed, for my poor padrone’s child! Is there no 
good lady who will take her and bring her up prop- 
erly? Signor Brockmann of good memory was a gen- 
tleman — though he had no money, poverino, and this 
bit of sugar should be taken care of like a signorina.” 

“ What can we do, Mariuccia ? ” Hans exclaimed. 
“ All that you say is true, but there are no relations 

— and we and the other boys are not married — it 
will have to be the Pieta, I am afraid.” 

Mariuccia pondered, looking down at the small 
fluffy head on her shoulder. At last she spoke. “ Give 
her to me. I will take her to my brother at Castel 


GIANNELLA 


5 


Gandolfo. His wife is a good woman. They have 
six children — one more will make no difference. And 
there is at least bread for all, and wine, and salad 
in the garden. She will do well there.” 

That is splendid,” cried Hans. ‘‘ Bravo, Mariuc- 
cia. We will send some money for her whenever we 
can, and she will be happy with you.” 

I shall not stay in the country,” Mariuccia re- 
plied. “ I have to earn my living. I must find an- 
other place, here in Rome. If the Signori can help 
me to do that I shall be glad. But I shall get to see 
Giannella sometimes, and when she grows big you 
signorini must manage to have her go to school. You 
are good boys — the Madonna will help you to sell 
your beautiful pictures — and then I will come and 
remind you of Giannella. For she is a lady. She 
cannot grow up to gather chestnuts and work in the 
fields. She must be instructed, like her poor papa.” 

This was a long speech for Mariuccia, who was a 
rather saturnine person generally. Evidently she had 
taken the matter deeply to heart, and her solution 
seemed such a satisfactory one that the young men 
were only too thankful to accept it. 

So the studio was cleared out and the landlord 
took the key and some of the properties in lieu of 
rent due; a few feminine belongings left behind by 
poor Mrs. Brockmann were packed away by Mariuc- 
cia to be kept for Giannella; a coat and a pair of 
boots, almost all that had not been sold during the 
artist’s illness to provide necessaries, she begged for as 
a propitiatory offering to her brother. Then the two 


6 


GI ANN ELLA 


young men went back to their work, their hard, cheery 
lives, and trusty comrades; and in a few hours they 
had managed to throw off the effects of the tragedy 
which had absorbed them for the last ten days, for, 
thank Heaven, the Donna ” had taken charge of the 
baby. 

The sun was striking low through the boles of the 
ancient elms which line the road from Albano to 
Castel Gandolfo. It was a hot September evening, 
and the dust rose in a yellow haze under the feet of 
a woman who was walking quickly towards the latter 
place. She was dressed in the costume of the hills; 
the short, full skirt swung wide at every step, the 
scarlet bodice gave easy play to her tall, spare figure. 
On her shoulders was the beautifully draped little 
shawl crossing over the bosom and showing the spot- 
less camisole of heavy linen, ornamented with hand- 
made lace of ancient pattern; round her neck were 
the dark red corals, and in her ears the long gold ear- 
rings — flashing now and again in the last sunbeams 
— which testified that she came of good stock and 
had inherited proper plenishings from the women of 
her race. She walked as if the road, the woods on 
either hand, the campagna below and the mountains 
beyond, belonged to her by right. The heavy basket 
on her head might have been an archaic crown, so 
lightly did it poise as she swung along, and she 
seemed equally untroubled by the weight of a sleeping 
child on one arm and a nondescript collection of bun- 
dles in the other. 


GIANNEJ LA 


7 


Mariuccia was going home. It mattered little that 
the home was not her own, but her brother’s, that its 
four stone rooms were crowded with children, and 
that she was bringing another to leave there, quite 
uncertain of its reception. She was in her own coun- 
try, striding through the good dust instead of over 
the city pavements, smelling the hot, dry fragrance 
of the grapes hanging in masses from the stripped 
vines where the vineyards terraced down to the cam- 
pagna on her left; hearing the chestnut burrs rustle 
to the ground in the woods on her right ; heading for 
the place where she was born, for the grand sour 
bread and honest wine, the snowy beds piled moun- 
tains high under embroidered sheets and quilted cover- 
lets, the blest palms and roses round the picture of the 
Immacolata on the wall — for the fountain in the 
piazza, the whispered greetings across the women’s 
benches in the church, for the well-known faces and 
the broad speech of home. 

It was three years since she had been there. Long 
ago she had made up her mind not to marry, telling 
her relations that since a woman must work for some- 
body, she chose to work for a master who would pay 
her, and whom she could leave if she chose, rather 
than for a husband who would give her no wages, 
would beat her if the fancy took him, and with whom 
she must remain all her life. So she had taken service 
in Rome, and, though her last venture had ended sadly, 
was on the whole contented with her lot. She had 
saved the greater part of her wages for the last ten 
years, had found kind, decent padroni of the genial 


8 


GIANNELLA 


middle-class sort, and was looked upon by the rela- 
tions in the hills as a superior person of solid fortune 
whom it was well to treat politely. She was bring- 
ing presents for the family now — cakes and sweet- 
meats for the children, a bottle of rosolio and the 
boots and coat for her brother, and a roll of linen 
and a green rosary for the sister-in-law — and the 
rosary had been blessed by the Pope. Her old friend, 
the sacristan of San Severino, had asked the Curato, 
and the Curato had asked the Cardinal’s secretary, 
and then the Cardinal himself had procured the Holy 
Father’s blessing; and Mariuccia had put the sacred 
thing away till she should feel more worthy to use it. 
Now the moment had come to do something really 
great, so that sister Candida should be dazzled into 
receiving la Pupa ” with open arms, and the rosary 
must be sacrificed. 

It is but a short distance from Albano, whither 
Mariuccia had traveled in the disjointed vettura which 
daily lumbered out from Rome over the Appian Way, 
to Castel Gandolfo, the summer sojourn of the Popes. 
As she entered the little town, the girls were gathered 
round the fountain, filling their urns and chattering 
as gaily as roosting sparrows ; the young men lounged 
on the steps of the church, hands in pockets, a rose 
or carnation stuck behind the ear to show that they 
were in good spirits; and a gathering of thirsty, dust- 
parched carrettieri, their huge, brightly-colored carts 
obstructing the street, were drinking bumpers of red 
wine in the low, dark doorway of the Osteria, under 
the swinging bunch of broom which was its only sign. 


GIANNELLA 


9 


Smells of cooking, of freshly-baked bread, of wet 
linen hanging to dry from upper windows, and many 
less savory scents filled Mariuccia’s nostrils with fa- 
miliar pleasure. The Ave Maria was pealing from 
the tower, and she turned aside to kneel for a moment 
in the well-known church. Then she came out, turned 
up a side street and made for a little square house 
that stood in its own vineyard just beyond the farther 
gate of the town. 

Ah, there was no doubt about her welcome. A 
tribe of black-eyed, red-cheeked children broke upon 
her like a tornado, with yells of joy; sister Candida 
came hurrying to the door and led her in rejoicing, 
taking baby and burdens from her without a question ; 
while brother Stefano, who had just got his pigs safely 
home from the chestnut wood behind the house, came 
clamping in with earth-stained clothes and a week’s 
beard on his beaming face, and kissed Mariuccia on 
both cheeks, inquired for her health, told his wife to 
get her some supper, all without more than one glance 
at the flaxen-haired infant who had been deposited 
safely out of reach of the children, in the very middle 
of the huge white bed which was the chief ornament 
of the room. Guests must not be questioned, what- 
ever they choose to bring; Mariuccia would speak 
when she was ready. 

That moment did not come till all the presents had 
been produced and rejoiced over, and the young ones 
had fallen asleep with open mouths and sticky fingers, 
and the three elders were sitting round the table by 
the light of the tall brass lamp in which all four 


10 


GTANNELLA 


burners had been kindled in honor of the visitor. The 
pure olive oil glowed brightly and cast a friendly radi- 
ance over the consultation. Mariuccia, desperately in 
earnest now, was stating her case as she considered it 
should be stated; not precisely as it really stood, of 
course; that would never have done. Giannella, Stef- 
ano and his wife learnt, was certainly an orphan, but 
there were rich relations in some barbaric country 
over there — Mariuccia’s gesture indicated enormous 
vagueness — who would wish her to be well cared for, 
and who would pay splendidly for such care when they 
came to fetch her, as they would do before very long. 
She was a good-tempered little thing, and had never 
been ailing for a day since she was born — and so 
pretty. There was not such another blonde head in 
Rome. The people turned to look at her in the street 
when Mariuccia took her out on a Sunday. Candida 
hesitated a little, then went and looked at the sleeping 
child, all rosy and golden, on the white pillow. Stefa- 
no glanced at her questioningly as she returned. This 
was going to be her affair, not his, and she must de- 
cide. 

“ It is well, Mariuccia,’’ she said, without even 
looking towards her husband. ‘‘ You can leave her 
here. Is she baptised ? ” 

‘‘ I saw to that,” Mariuccia replied. Here is the 
certificate from San Severino.” And she drew out of 
her pocket a stiff paper which none of the three could 
read, but on which they recognized the big, round seal 
of the Keys and Tiara. 

I will keep it,” Mariuccia ‘^aid, ‘‘ and if it is 


GIANNELLA 


II 


wanted you can send for it. Her name is Giannella, 
don’t forget. She eats soup and bread, just what you 
gave your own babies at that age. Mamma mia, I am 
sorry to part with her, pretty heart! But I must go 
back to Rome and find a new, rich padrone, or how 
else can I leave a fortune to those fine nephews and 
nieces of mine by-and-by?” 

“ You are too good to the little rascals already,” 
said Candida. She was not a mercenary person; but 
Stefano, who had the family cares on his mind, bright- 
ened up, and uncorked the rosolio. Three thimblefuls 
were drunk to the general health ; then the tapers were 
lighted on the family altar, where a splendid Bambino 
Gesu, dressed in pink silk, held out his waxen hands 
under the glass globe and smiled on his disciples. The 
night prayers were said; one low light was left burn- 
ing in each room — since only the animals sleep in 
the dark — and Mariuccia fell asleep beside Giannella 
in the best bed, with a great weight lifted off her heart. 


CHAPTER II 


M ARIUCCIA only stayed two days in her native 
town; then she bade farewell to Giannella 
(who had already made friends with the eldest niece 
and the youngest pig) and returned, very light-handed, 
to seek for a new master in Rome. She had made 
up her mind to find a quiet, well-regulated bachelor 
to care for this time. No more heartaches over young 
mothers and forsaken orphans for her. She realized 
fully the responsibility she had assumed for the Brock- 
mann baby, and courageously faced the likelihood of 
having to meet most of its expenses herself. Those 
young gentlemen were kind, yes, but they were just 
boys, and would probably forget until she reminded 
them; and then it was always doubtful whether they 
would have any money to give for their dead friend’s 
child. She had made light of this part of the question 
in speaking to them, but she was resolved that Stefano 
and Candida, with their own large family to provide 
for, should not be out of pocket on Giannella’s ac- 
count; neither must they ever imagine that the pay- 
ments for the little girl come from anyone but the 
supposed rich relations who were to hear such good 
news of her progress under their care. With all their 
goodness, it would have wounded them deeply to think 
that Mariuccia’s spare cash, which would have helped 
to start the nephews and nieces in the world, was be- 
12 


GIANNELLA 


13 


ing spent on the child of strangers. She had two hun- 
dred and fifty scudi in the Savings Bank of the Pieta, 
an institution which, with its merciful pawnbroking 
department, its safe investments for the poor people’s 
earnings, and its all-embracing Foundling Hospital 
and affiliated Training Schools, met the wants of the 
lower classes in those opulent days in a fairly com- 
plete manner. In her steady Roman way, Mariuccia 
had thought out her own case, and was resolved to 
find a quiet and solvent padrone with whom she could 
live in peace and security for many years to come. So 
she went to consult Fra Tommaso, the lay brother 
who acted as sacristan at San Severino, a popular 
church served by some Marist Fathers, down in the 
oldest quarter of the city, near the Tiber. Fra Tom- 
maso was an old friend, like herself a native of Castel 
Gandolfo, and the deep-seated clan feeling imposed 
obligations of mutual helpfulness on the compatriots. 
Fver careful of the courtesies, she had brought him a 
present of fruit and wine, and a couple of plump 
pigeons, from the place of his birth, and counted on 
his being able to interest the Fathers in finding a good 
place for her. They knew everybody in the district 
and were the general referees for a thousand matters 
civic and domestic. 

San Severino had an imposing entrance from the 
Via Ripetta, where it stood, a little back from the 
street, in a semi-circular piazzale of its own. A series 
of low, broad steps led up to the rounded platform, 
wide enough to accommodate the blind man, the 

woman with the footless baby, and the parish epileptic, 
2 


14 


GIANNELLA 


who all had their authorized stations in a row near the 
door in order to receive the never-failing alms of week- 
day worshipers and Sunday congregations. They 
brought their chairs with them in the morning, and, 
after hearing the first Mass, settled themselves . for 
the day; their little stores of food were slipped under 
the chairs; the woman had her stocking to knit (for 
the baby always held out its hand for the coppers) ; 
the blind man had his tin box to rattle at each ap- 
proaching footstep ; the epileptic had to put his wooden 
alms bowl at his feet, since his hands trembled too 
much to hold it. Among these three there was much 
good fellowship, but they looked askance at the priv- 
ileged cripple whose crutches reposed all day against 
a battered arm-chair close to the church door, and 
who in his turn held aloof from them. For he was 
an ancient man of decent standing, having been in his 
day a mason who lost the use of his limbs through 
a fall from the cupola of San Severino; he now con- 
sidered that he was as much a part of the church and 
its organization as the Father Rector himself. He 
never solicited alms when, by an ingenious arrange- 
ment of cords round his hand and the back of his 
chair, he raised the heavy, padded leather curtain for 
people to pass into the church; but many a silver 
paoletto or double baiocco was dropped into the hat 
on his knees in the course of the day, and the calm, 
contented expression of his face bespoke a mind at 
rest from earthly cares. 

Mariuccia nodded to the little parade of incurables 
as she came up the steps on the morning after her 


GIANNELLA 


15 


return from Castel Gandolfo. She was of the people, 
and they would have scorned to beg from her, but 
she found a sugar-plum in her pocket for the baby’s 
grimy little palm, a packet of snuff for the blind man 
(who was accused of seeing fairly well after dark) 
and a copper for the epileptic; they would all pray 
for her and further her success. To Sor Checco, the 
cripple, she spoke a cheery good-morning, and begged 
his acceptance of a small flask of “ vino santo,” which, 
she assured him, would be good for his health. Then 
she inquired whether Fra Tommaso were about? She 
was anxious to speak to him. 

At that moment Fra Tommaso emerged from under 
the opposite side of the leather curtain, broom in hand, 
and began to sweep down the steps. When he had 
finished his task, accompanying it with his invariable 
grumblings at the dirt that people would track up 
with them, he declared himself at his countrywoman’s 
disposal, and led her through the church to a dark 
disused side-chapel where he kept his brooms and 
pails, his oil and candles, and where there was one 
old chair which he could offer to a visitor. 

After many preambles Mariuccia preferred her re- 
quest. Did Fra Tommaso know of a place for a re- 
spectable woman, over thirty, who could cook and 
wash and iron with anybody? Yes, it was not to 
boast, but she could say that she knew her business, 
and as for the marketing — well, she could make a 
paolo go as far as any housekeeper in Rome. 

Fra Tommaso pondered, his chin in his hand, his 
eyes on the ground, and Mariuccia watched him anx- 


i6 


GIANNELLA 


iously. He was a thin, wiry man of forty or there- 
abouts, with a rather hollow face and very bright eyes. 
Hardy old age was stamped on every seam and fold 
of his black cassock, with its wide shoulder cape and 
leathern girdle, from which dangled various keys and 
a heavy rosary. The Church, which finds a use for 
all faithful enthusiasms, had taken him into her service 
many years before; seeing that no amount of patient 
teaching could induct the knowledge of Latin into his 
head, she had made him one of the doorkeepers of 
the House of the Lord, and he was perfectly happy 
and contented in that capacity. He had elevated 
sacristanship to a fine art. The three or four dozen 
oil lamps which lighted the various altars and shrines 
were always replenished, always bright, and the oil 
was measured out as carefully as if it had been molten 
gold. The candlesticks were burnished, every candle 
end utilized, and the droppings of virgin wax col- 
lected and sold again to the chandlers for the benefit 
of the Church. The chairs were piled high at the 
far end of the nave and the floor swept within half- 
an-hour after the last Mass of the day had been said ; 
and Fra Tommaso was a walking terror to the unruly 
urchins who would try to slip in to chatter and play 
near the door when the sun was too hot or the rain 
too chill in the streets. He was a little severe on 
idlers and beggars, but for all the respectable poor he 
had a friendly interest, taking a good deal of pride in 
the position of trust which enabled him to lay their 
requests and perplexities before one or other of the 
Fathers. The saint of the community, wise, detached 


GIANNELLA 


^7 


old Padre Ambrosio, still looked upon Fra Tommaso 
as a boy, and sometimes warned him not to let himself 
be drawn too closely into the thousand distracted in- 
terests of the world. ‘‘ Even charity, my son,’' he 
would say, ‘‘ has its limitations. Beware of letting 
these good people (especially the women, who would 
almost drive an archangel out of heaven with their 
chatter) distract your mind from higher things. You 
must become a saint, you know. No Latin is needed 
for that. Only recollection, and prayer and faithful- 
ness to the duties of your state.” 

You are right. Padre,” Fra Tommaso would say, 
feeling duly contrite under the gentle rebuke, ‘‘ I will 
certainly be more careful.” But do what he would, 
his lively interest in the affairs of his fellow-creatures 
sprang into life again the moment he came in contact 
with them. He knew all the habitues of the church 
by sight; the stories and circumstances of most of 
them were familiar to him ; he would lie awake at night 
sometimes, wondering if that poor Rosina were getting 
on better with her mother-in-law, whether Rachel’s 
boy had got the place at the baker’s, how much that 
brigand of a doctor was going to charge the shoe- 
maker for pulling his wife through the fever. If a 
new face appeared. Fra Tommaso had to know all 
about its owner within a given time, or he must in- 
vent a history for it before he could say his prayers 
in peace. Padre Ambrosio was so old — and so holy ! 
How could he understand that a poor, uninstructed 
lay brother, who was running about the church day in, 
day out, must feel more concerned with the people 


i8 


GIANNELLA 


than he, who now only descended from the steps of 
the altar to give himself up to contemplation and 
prayer in his quiet, distant room? And, when one 
came to think of it, the Santissimo ” and the blessed 
Addolorata, and the kind, smiling Saints, were all in 
the church. They would surely forgive their poor 
servant for taking pleasure in thinking about his broth- 
ers and sisters and managing to be useful to them at 
the same time. 

When Mariuccia explained her needs. Fra Tom- 
maso’s mind began to work rapidly over his little map 
of humanity, and stopped, like a divining rod, over 
the precise place for her. But certain hesitations and 
discussions must be gone into, otherwise he and she 
would miss much pleasant talk. He looked up and 
met her anxious eyes. 

It is a good idea of yours, commara,” he said ; 
a padrone without family, and of regular habits. 
Yes, you would do well to find such an one. Let me 
see — we must think a little. We shall find him in 
time. Who goes softly goes safely, and also far. 
Now the other day, a gentleman spoke to me — ” 

‘‘Yes?” said Mariuccia eagerly. “Who was he? 
Did he want a servant ? ” 

“He wanted to get rid of one — an extravagant 
woman, who, he said, was ruining him. But of course 
he could not send her away till he had found some- 
body to replace her ? ” 

“ Tell me his name. I will present myself at 
once,” exclaimed Mariuccia, rising and reaching for 
her umbrella. 


GIANNELLA 


19 


Fra Tommaso made a dignified gesture of the hand, 
which commanded her to sit down again and listen 
patiently. She obeyed with a sigh. Then the sacris- 
tan continued, “ he is a professor at the university, 
Signor Carlo Bianchi, a most learned man, who knows 
more about antiquities than anybody in the world. 
Capper i ! He can tell you who built the palace of the 
Caesars, and San Pietro, and the Colosseo. When- 
ever a statue is found they send for Professor Bianchi, 
and he does not even need to look at it — he wets his 
finger in his mouth and feels the marble, and he says, 
‘ Signorimiei, this is the work of Praxiteles, or Scan- 
derbeg, or — or Saint Thomas Aquinas.' Just like 
that! And they put a ticket with the name on the 
pedestal and never ask another question. Oh, a man 
of immense instruction! But they say . . and 

Fra Tommaso shook his head mysteriously, that 
he has one ugly vice." 

Mariuccia’s hand went up to her mouth, imitating 
the action of drinking, and her eyebrows asked a ques- 
tion. 

Macche ! " exclaimed her adviser, looking much 
shocked, not he? A man of that instruction? No, 
to tell the truth — he is terribly stingy." 

‘‘ So am I," Mariuccia replied, laughing with re- 
lief. We shall get on well together." 

‘‘ You are economical, Sora Mariuccia," Fra Tom- 
maso looked at her approvingly, ‘‘ but this poor Pro- 
fessor is truly avaricious. He is afraid even to eat 
enough, and is as thin as the miller’s donkey that car- 
ries the grain and never gets any. One day some 


20 


GIANNELLA 


buffoon of a student stole his purse as he was enter- 
ing the lecture-room — oh, he gave it back to him 
afterwards — but meanwhile the lecture had gone to 
little pieces — clean out of his head. When the young 
rascal handed him his purse back he nearly fainted, 
and they had to give him cognac before he could walk 
home.’’ 

‘‘ Poverino,” Mariuccia cried indignantly, “ it was a 
cruel joke ! I am not afraid of this vice, as you call 
it. He will have to pay me my wages, and that is 
all that matters to me. I am indifferentissima as to 
victuals. By the way, what does he pay ? ” 

‘‘Ask for four scudi a month,” Fra Tommaso com- 
manded briskly. He had caught sight of a sunbeam 
that suddenly shot through the round window in the 
dome and lit, like a golden arrow, on the crown of 
the Addolorata. That meant noon in a moment — 
and his bells to ring. “ You ask four, and he will give 
you three. Go to him to-day — Professor Carlo 
Bianchi, Palazzo Santa fede — it is close by here, you 
know. You can go out at the back door of the 
church. Say I sent you. But no, no thanks — for 
me it is a pleasure to serve you, commara, at any time. 
Arrivederci ! ” 

The report of a cannon rent the hot, still air, the 
midday gun from Castel Sant’ Angelo. Instantly 
every church bell in Rome broke into peals of sound, 
echoing the announcement of high noon to the city. 
Fra Tommaso had leaped to his ropes and was work- 
ing like a demon, trying to outring all the neighboring 
bells, and especially the one of Santa Eulalia, the con- 


GIANNELLA 


21 


vent on the other side of the river; between it and 
San Severino there was on this point an ancient rivalry 
which deafened all who lived near either. 

Mariuccia departed well content, and at once made 
her way to the indicated address. The Palazzo San- 
ta fede was a huge pile belonging to the prince of that 
name, and running the whole length of the street 
which separated the .Ripetta from a large quiet piazza, 
where five well-known palaces had faced each other 
in dignified seclusion for some centuries past, while 
many a tragedy and comedy had been played in the 
great rooms behind their tall, impenetrable walls. The 
Santafede residence stretched four-square round a vast 
sunny courtyard where a fountain bubbled in the cen- 
ter, and battered statues of more or less doubtful merit 
stood on pedestals under the deep colonnade which ran 
round three sides and afforded shelter for the prince's 
stables. The present prince was a very young man, 
with pronounced sporting tendencies, and beautiful 
English carriage horses and Irish hunters were 
groomed under the colonnade in the morning. The 
Princess Mother lived with her son on the piano no- 
bile,” the first floor of the palace, in solemn and un- 
changing state. All the other apartments, there be- 
ing no married sons to be housed, were let to tenants 
whose worldly importance diminished with each flight 
of stairs they climbed — monsignori, diplomatists, no- 
bles who had no dwelling of their own in Rome paid 
high rents for spacious suites of rooms on second and 
third floors. Above these came modest apartments oc- 
cupied by humbler individuals; and the vast attics. 


22 


GIANNELLA 


which a couple of centuries ago had accommodated 
four or five hundred retainers, were now let out, even 
in single rooms, to all who could satisfy the maestro di 
casa of their respectability. 

The reigning family was away at this time of year 
and the porter was taking his ease in his shirt sleeves 
in the shade of the great doorway when Mariuccia 
marched in and inquired for Professor Bianchi. 

Third staircase to the right, fourth floor,” was the 
reply. And as the inquirer went on under the colon- 
nade, the porter remarked to his wife, who was sitting 
on the lodge steps nursing her baby, ‘‘ I wager there 
goes another cook for Professor Scortica sassi (Skin- 
the-stones). I wonder how long she will stay? ” 

Mrs. Porter glanced after the receding figure. There 
was something impressive in that dragonlike stride; 
the brown hand gripped the thick umbrella as if it had 
been a saber. “ She looks pretty resolute, that fe- 
male,” Mrs. Porter remarked. ‘‘ I shouldn’t wonder if 
he had found his match this time. I’d rather not be 
in her place, though.” 

Mariuccia stood before the green door on the fourth 
landing of the third staircase. Her first ring at the 
bell elicited no response, but at the second, footsteps 
approached and a thin, rasping voice asked the regula- 
tion question : “ Who is it ? ” 

Mariuccia gave the equally invariable reply, 
“ Friends.” Then the shutter behind a tiny grating 
was pushed back and a pair of spectacled eyes were 
applied to the bars. The next moment the door was 
open and Mariuccia stood face to face with a slight. 


GIANNELLA 


23 

dark man, hooked of nose and hollow of cheek, but 
much younger than she had expected to behold. 

He understood her errand at once. Her costume 
and attitude were those of the respectable servant at 
that time. Quite a gleam of joy came into his eyes. 
His cook had departed in a rage the evening before, 
and the unfortunate man of science had burnt a hole 
in his coat and nearly asphyxiated himself in trying 
to light the charcoal fire to make his coffee that morn- 
ing. He led the new applicant for that honor through 
a long, dark passage, where, as he passed, he hastily 
closed an open door ; but Mariuccia had caught sight of 
an unmade bed and personal belongings in sad disor- 
der. Instantly a maternal pity for the helpless man 
took possession of her. That cook must have had a 
heart of stone to leave the poor fellow like this ! He 
conducted her into a study filled with books, papers, 
plaster casts and fragments of marble, all arranged 
carefully enough; but the confusion of his mind and 
his destitute condition were illustrated by a breakfast 
tray which had been deposited on the floor, flooded 
with coffee from an overturned pot which still lay 
on its side. 

This was more than Mariuccia’s soul could bear. 
Before entering on any negotiation she picked up the 
depressing object and carried it out to where her in- 
stinct told her she would find the kitchen. Here she 
paused for. a moment, tray in hand, to survey the 
possibilities of the place. She nodded approvingly. 
“ Here I remain,’’ she informed herself. ‘‘ A kitchen 
of this noble size — full of light — with two windows 


24 


GIANNELLA 


on the street. Capperi, one does not find that every 
day.” She glanced out of the window and saw that 
the opposite wall was that of the long building, run- 
ning back from San Severino, the building which had 
housed the Fathers and their schools. Nothing could 
be better — she felt at home already. 

The last occupant of the noble kitchen had left 
things in a horrible condition, certainly ; rubbish every- 
where, coppers that could not have been cleaned since 
Easter — a hecatomb of damaged crockery on the 
dust-laden shelves. Never mind, all that would be 
changed in a day. And now for the padrone. He 
would be wondering what had become of her. 

She made her way back to the study and stood at 
the open door for a moment. The Professor seemed 
to have forgotten all about her. He was examining 
some fragments of dirty earthenware on which a pat- 
tern was dimly visible; fitting one to another with 
delicate care, he was murmuring to himself, “ Spuri- 
ous, spurious. That poor Cardinal ! Any villain can 
take him in with rubbish that was baked last year and 
buried in the right sort of earth! Etruscan indeed. 
I wonder what he gave for this robaccia? What is 
it?” He had thrown the fragments down on the 
table and caught sight of Mariuccia. Ah yes, I 
remember — you have come about the donna’s place, 
I think. Who sent you to me ? ” 

“ Fra Tommaso of San Severino,” she replied; and 
the Professor looked pleased. I see the signore is 
busy, so I will, with his permission, say that I can do 
everything he will require, and I respectfully ask what 


GIANNELLA 


25 

wages he gives. I had five scudi a month with my 
last padrone.’’ 

The Professor’s hands flew up in the air and an 
expression of deepest pain came across his counte- 
nance. Mariuccia’s spirits rose; the delightful excite- 
ment of bargaining was about to begin. 

The duel lasted three-quarters of an hour, with 
varying fortune, first to one and then to the other, of 
the disputants. Twice Mariuccia seized the cotton 
umbrella and made as if to depart, outraged at having 
her just claims disregarded. The second time she 
almost meant to go; but a deep sigh from her ad- 
versary softened her heart. Poor young man, he was 
really quite simpatico ” — and so forlorn. She 
paused at the door — and then she knew that she had 
won the day, for he came after her and laid a hand on 
her arm. 

“ It is ruinous, that four scudi a month,” he said 
woefully, and fifteen baiocchi a day for your food 
is an insanity — you will die of apoplexy, I know it. 
But — there — it is said. I must sacrifice myself. 
Now do go and get me something to eat. That de- 
mon would not cook any supper for me last night and 
I faint, my good woman, I faint.” 

‘‘ Leave it all to me ! ” she replied. “ Poverino ! you 
shall suffer no more.” And at once she marched off 
to take possession of her kingdom. 

Within a week the Professor knew that he was in 
good strong hands; in a month he suspected that he 
had found a ruler ; but he was well satisfied. Except- 
ing the daily wrangle over the money for his market- 


26 


GIANNELLA 


ing (the sums he proffered, Mariuccia told him, were 
quite inadequate to the maintenance of his respected 
health), all went smoothly and silently, as he liked 
it to go, in the quite shabby rooms filled with books 
and flooded with sunshine, where he passed his studi- 
ous life. Three times a week he lectured at the uni- 
versity, and on other days spent much time among 
the excavations which constantly brought new treas- 
ures to light from Rome’s inexhaustible soil. Few 
visitors ever mounted those steep stairs; occasionally 
he spent an evening with his illustrious and learned 
friend, Cardinal Cestaldini, but otherwise he sat in his 
study after supper, perfectly happy with his lamp, his 
books, and his cigar; and in all his habits he was reg- 
ular as clockwork. Mariuccia lay down night after 
night in her dark bedroom off the passage, thanking 
Heaven for having bestowed on her the padrone she 
had dreamed of. She laughed to herself as she 
thought of his prophecy that she would die of apo- 
plexy. She had brought her own living expenses 
down to one-half of the sum which she had quite 
justly claimed. The rest was put by for the baby 
she had left with Candida at Castel Gandolfo. If 
no rich relations turned up — and if those nice young 
friends of poor Signor Brockmann (of good memory) 
never sent any money for la Giannella — there would 
be anxious times ahead for her only protector. The 
Madonna and San Giuseppe would help — that could 
be counted upon; but one must make what provision 
one could — with six nephews and nieces on one’s 
conscience ! 


CHAPTER III 


I T was three years before Mariuccia saw Giannella 
again. Then Candida brought her to Rome, fat 
and well-looking, to show her to the sister-in-law, 
who was to be moved, at sight of the pretty, well-fed 
little girl, to grant a modest request. Once in three 
months during the passing years a trusty carrettiere 
from Castel Gandolfo had brought Mariuccia a letter, 
written for Candida by the official scribe of the “ Cas- 
tello,'' reporting Giannella’s good progress; and Fra 
Tommaso had read it to the recipient in the empty 
chapel under the bell tower. The same proven coun- 
selor had always written the answer for her, free of 
charge (it would have been folly to pay the public 
letter-writer in Piazza San Carlo for what she could 
get done for nothing!) and had made up and sealed 
the little packet of money, growing heavier with Gian- 
nella’s growth, which the carrier took back with him 
when he dawdled across the campagna to the hills, in 
his high cart, painted in gorgeous reds and blues, 
piled with empty barrels in exchange for the full 
ones he had brought in. A proud man was he. His 
sheepskin awning was hung with twenty or thirty jing- 
ling brass bells ; his horses moved leisurely under their 
great burnished collars; his white lupetto, the fierce 
little fox-dog without which the outfit would have 
been incomplete, barked madly at everything on the 
27 


28 


GIANNELLA 


road and frenziedly at all the other lupettos on the 
other carriers’ vehicles, and took sole charge of all 
property during the long pauses at the thatched “ Cap- 
panne ” where the jolly driver would have a glass of 
wine and a game of bowls with his compeers to break 
the monotony of the journey. 

The letters he brought four times a year provided 
the great excitement of Mariuccia’s existence, and the 
Professor knew that for a day or two in every quarter 
his housekeeper would be slightly less silent and me- 
thodical than usual. He understood that there was 
a child at nurse in the country, an occurrence so com- 
mon that he never gave it a second thought. He im- 
agined it was Mariuccia’s own, and as she never spoke 
of having a husband, supposed that she was a widow. 
Once or twice he wondered what kind of a man could 
have had the courage to espouse such a carabineer in 
petticoats. He himself had a nervous terror of 
women, whom he considered as brainless, extravagant 
creatures, and in spite of his comparative youth, he 
seemed destined for an old bachelor, so resolutely did 
he avoid feminine society. 

It was therefore a shock to him to return one bright 
winter day from the university to find his apartment 
resounding with women’s voices and childish laughter. 
The front-door bell was broken and he was fighting 
the maestro di casa as to who should pay for repair- 
ing it, so he had let himself in with the latchkey 
and was coming on tiptoe down the passage to have 
a peep at the intruders, when the kitchen door flew 
open, and, out of the haze of sunshine within, a small, 


GIANNELLA 


29 


golden-headed whirlwind shot forward with a scream 
of laughter, bumped against his knees, and went down 
on the bricks with a thud. He sprang back, nearly 
as alarmed as the child; but before he could find his 
breath for questioning — or she for crying — two ex- 
cited women swooped down on the little sufferer, 
picked her up, felt her all over, tried to drown her 
sobs with caresses and promises, and finally bore her 
back to the kitchen without having taken the slightest 
notice of the indignant master of the house. He 
judged it best to withdraw to his sanctum, where he sat 
down in dismal depression. He felt certain that this 
cataclysm foreboded the destruction of his peace. 

It was poor Mariuccia’s peace, however, which was 
disturbed by Candida’s visit. Giannella had been 
splendidly cared for; her clothes were in excellent 
order. Sister Mariuccia could see for herself that 
every penny sent for the child had been honestly 
expended on her. Could she have those red cheeks 
and bright eyes, could she be such a little wisp of ac- 
tivity and high spirits, if she were not well fed and 
happy? Candida proudly asked. Surely the rich re- 
lations would be more than satisfied. And, since this 
would redound to Mariuccia’s credit and magnify her 
reward from them, was it too much to ask that she 
would come forward generously, like the dear, good 
soul she always was, to help Candida, junior, the eldest 
niece, to a fine settlement in life? The prosperous 
parents of a particularly nice young man had made a 
proposal for Candiduccia. They were willing to take 

her without a dowry if she could bring the proper 
3 


30 


GIANNELLA 


plenishings, the bed and the linen, the chest of drawers 
and the pearl earrings — and of course the Sunday 
clothes — without which no self-respecting girl could 
enter a family. Here was a chance for Candiduccia ! 
But, to tell the truth, things had not gone so very well 
with Stefano of late. The good donkey had died sud- 
denly ; last year the filloxera had got at the grapes — 
and, in fine, they looked to sister Mariuccia to remem- 
ber her kind promises and give the money for the out- 
fit. How much ? Why, well laid out, perhaps a hun- 
dred scudi would do, since of course the linen was 
there already — Candiduccia had been spinning it ever 
since she was ten, and Sor Mariano had woven it for 
her for nothing. Yes, a hundred scudi should do 
nicely. And dear Mariuccia was so rich and had no 
children to provide for ! A little thing like that would 
not make much difference to her. 

Dear Mariuccia looked down at Giannella (who 
by this time had taken her old new friend into grace, 
and had fallen asleep in her arms) and wondered 
how much further her little stock of money would 
go. The three years^ payments had made sad in- 
roads on the vaunted savings ; but that Candida must 
never know; the money was supposed to come from 
the rich relations fuori,’’ myths in whom Mariuccia 
herself had come to believe in a way at times, even 
tormenting herself with the possibility of their coming 
to claim the little waif. For the woman who had 
refused to marry had plenty of affection to bestow, 
and Giannella seemed to be the only thing in the 
world which was her very own, had been her own 


GIANNELLA 


31 


ever since she was born and her real mother had 
slipped away from the costly joys of maternity. 
Mariuccia had woven pleasant little dreams about the 
future, and seen herself bringing Giannella to live with 
her when the child grew bigger and could be taught 
to move quietly about the house and not disturb the 
Professor at his books; she had seen her, in imagina- 
tion, prettily dressed, as became her station in life, 
and finally ensnaring the affections of some ideally 
good and handsome young man — who would marry 
her and bring old Mariuccia to take care of them both 
and of the beautiful children Heaven would send 
them. But Giannella must eat many loaves of bread 
before these pleasant visions could be realized, and 
who was to provide them but Mariuccia? Four scudi 
a month was good pay, but how far would it go alone 
when the precious savings had fitted out Candiduccia 
and her two younger sisters — for what had been 
done for one must be done for the others — for en- 
trance into well-to-do families? Mamma mia, it was 
a perplexing outlook! Well, the Madonna and San 
Giuseppe must provide. These things were matters 
of destiny. There was no going back now. 

"'You will do it, will you not?” came Candida’s 
anxious question. The suspense was almost unbear- 
able to her. 

" Yes, I will do it, Candida mia ! ” the other woman 
replied slowly. Then she added more cheerfully, 
" The " tratto ’ is the most expensive part. You had 
better leave the buying of that and the earrings to 
me. I can combat with these brigands of merchants 


32 


GIANNELLA 


better than you can, and here in the city there are 
fine shops for silk and cloth. You shall have the 
things the next time the carrettiere goes out. I will 
give you the money for the bed and the bureau 
to-day.’' 

Having once made up her mind, no more regrets 
were admitted and for the next twenty-four hours 
Mariuccia’s feelings were divided between delight 
at the pretty ways of the child and anxiety lest the 
Professor should find her trottings to and for, her 
laughter and occasional tears, too intolerably disturb- 
ing. But when it was explained to him that the visi- 
tation was but a passing one, he was more patient 
than could have been expected. The next day Can- 
dida bore little Giannella away in good time to catch 
the vettura for Albano; her farewells took the form 
of an all-embracing benediction for the generosity of 
the rich sister; and that afternoon Mariuccia asked 
her master for permission to go out for a couple of 
hours. She came home absolutely hoarse with bar- 
gaining, bringing a roll of silk that would have stood 
alone — a gorgeous brocade of red carnations on a 
cinnamon-colored ground — and two feet of scarlet 
cloth which looked like geranium petals and felt like 
a baby’s cheek. It had cost five scudi a foot, and 
with some broad gold trimmings would make the half 
sleeves from wrist to elbow which were relatively the 
most expensive part of the superb Albanese costume. 
It would also provide the stiff little stomacher into 
which the voluminous shawl of fine lace would be 
tucked. For this last, as well as for the lace apron, 


GIANNELLA 


33 


Mariuccia had gone to the selling department of the 
Pieta, where unredeemed pledges were disposed of, 
and had found there just the right earrings, wide 
hoops of pale gold with three fair-sized pearls dang- 
ling from each. If the bride lived to be ninety and 
a great-grandmother, she would wear this dress every 
Sunday and Feast Day at Mass and would leave it as 
a treasured heirloom to her descendants. In the 
goatskin trunk under her bed Mariuccia kept the one 
which her own mother and grandmother had worn 
at their weddings and ever after. No holidays came 
into her dull life, but the tratto ” must not be parted 
with while there was even a faint possibility of her 
having to appear at church in her native town. 

The precious sendings were confided, a day or two 
later, with many anxious recommendations, to Sebas- 
tiano the carrettiere, who promised not to get off the 
cart for a moment, no matter what temptations might 
assail him till they were safely deposited at their 
destination. 

Leave it all to me,’' he exclaimed, slapping his 
chest proudly. Am I not a galantuomo ? Do you 
think I would let such stuff as that out of my sight 
for a moment? Diamini! We have our principles, 
we carrettieri ! Not a single glass will I drink before 
I reach Castel Gandolfo.” 

Mariuccia fancied that the white lupetto on the 
driving seat winked one eye, quite like a Christian, at 
this assurance, the like of which he had probably 
heard before, and she felt a little uncomfortable 
about the goods until, two weeks later, the receipt 


34 


GIANNELLA 


for them came in the shape of a box of confetti tied 
with white ribbon, the usual faire part ” of an ac- 
complished wedding. She offered it, as in duty 
bound, to the Professor, who accepted it blandly and 
made the sugar-plums suffice for two meals, thereby 
effecting a saving of at least ten baiocchi. 


Another three years went by, and when Candida, 
as Mariuccia had foreseen, came to solicit for Teresina 
the favors which had been accorded to her elder sister, 
Mariuccia saw that some decisive step must be taken; 
she could no longer pay for Giannella’s board in her 
brother’s family. Twice already she had been to see 
Mr. Brockmann’s artist friends, and though they had 
received her with great kindness and cordiality, they 
had been able to help her but little. One was married, 
and had all he could do to maintain a wife and child; 
the other seemed to be as poor as ever, and only 
necessity would have made his visitor accept the few 
dollars which he insisted on giving her. There was 
no one else to appeal to. Mariuccia gave almost her 
last scudo to fit out Teresina for her wedding, and 
then, leaving Candida in the kitchen with Giannella 
(a much quieter little person than of yore) standing 
in awed silence beside her chair, marched boldly into 
the Professor’s study and asked his permission to 
keep the child with her henceforth. 

Bianchi looked up from his papers in blank dismay. 
Keep a child in the house? The thing was out of the 


GIANNELLA 


35 

question. What was Mariuccia thinking of to pro- 
pose such an absurdity? 

If the Signor Professor really wants to know 
what I am thinking of,” she replied, I will tell him, 
in all sincerity. I am thinking of a new place, where 
I can have Giannella with me. I heard of one this 
morning. And they give five scudi a month.” 

Her master’s opposition collapsed before this states- 
manlike invention. He could not part with his silent, 
economical jewel of domesticity, to fall into strange 
and ruthless hands. No, better accept the child, even 
if it should prove a demon, as he had heard that 
young children mostly were, and keep his cook. But 
he made conditions. Under no circumstances was 
the baby (the flight of time was forgotten by him 
and. he was thinking of something small and noisy 
that would trip him up at every step) to enter his 
rooms. And also it must be understood, once and 
for all, that he must never be asked to contribute to 
its maintenance. Not a lump of sugar or a crust 
of bread was it to have from his stores. If people 
were so silly as to take strange orphans to bring up — 
Giannella’s history had now been explained to him — 
they must bear the punishment of their spendthrift 
insanity alone. Perhaps it would teach them wisdom. 

Mariuccia’s eyes blazed as he said this, and he 
began to fear that he might have gone too far. But 
she was generous enough to overlook the insults of 
a conquered adversary. She thanked him in set terms 
for the permission to keep Giannella, assured him 


36 


GIANNELLA 


that he should neither hear nor see the child ; and then 
she calmed her ruffled feelings by the first impertinent 
speech that had ever fallen from her lips. Let the 
padrone congratulate himself on one point. The 
chastisements due to what he called spendthrift in- 
sanity, and which most persons would consider com- 
mon charity, would never fall on his respected head.” 

Then she went back to Candida and told her that 
Giannella must now remain in the city. Her invisible 
relations wished her to have a superior education, 
such as was unattainable in her country home. 
Candida was frankly sorry. She had come to love 
the paying nursling almost as if it were her own; and 
the charge of Giannella, who was looked upon by the 
neighbors as quite a highborn young heiress, conferred 
much distinction on her foster parents. As for the 
child herself, she was appalled at the prospect of being 
parted from “ Mamma Candida ” and her lifelong 
playmates, to remain alone with “ Zia Mariuccia,” 
who looked so old and stern. She flung herself into 
Candida’s arms and wept bitterly, the two women 
watching her in silence. Candida rocked her in her 
arms while some tears of her own trickled down over 
the golden hair in which she had taken such pride for 
years past. 

Mariuccia let them weep together. These things 
were matters of destiny. There was nothing for her 
to say. Their double grief showed that the little one 
had been happy at least. Her own turn would come 
when the parting was over; and though she was 
racking her brain as to ways and means, she was 


GIANNELLA 


37 


confident that she could make Giannella happy too. 
She rose quietly and prepared as tempting a dinner 
as her resources would provide, and her sorrowing 
guests did full justice to it at last. Then all three 
went out to make the purchases for Teresina; and the 
streets, the shops, the band playing stridently as a 
detachment of French soldiers in gay uniforms 
marched down the Corso, all sent the country-reared 
child wild with delight. She was finally put to bed 
with a honey cake under her pillow, and never woke 
till Candida, who had slipped away in the dawn, was 
far out on the Via Appia, so occupied with anticipat- 
ing Teresina’s joy over the grand new clothes that 
there was little place in her mind for anything else. 

A few days later Sebastiano brought a big bundle 
in which Mariuccia found every garment that Gian- 
nella had outgrown carefully folded up and saved 
by her scrupulous keepers, together with odds and 
ends of playthings, and little pictures of the Saints 
given for good conduct by the parish priest who had 
taught her her catechism. There was also a present 
of cakes and fruit from the teeming Alban garden in 
the hills. The padrone was offered his due of all, 
and actually smiled when he found a little person, 
with round cheeks and funnily puckered brow, reach- 
ing up with two hands to put a plate of fresh figs on 
his dinner-table. The child nearly dropped it when 
she saw him enter, but summoned up all her courage 
to shove it on safely. Then she turned and ran at 
full speed all the way to the kitchen, where she rushed 
to Mariuccia’s side and hid her face in her protector’s 


38 


GIANNELLA 


voluminous skirts. “ Oh, please, please, ask him not 
to eat me this time ! ” she wailed. “ I didn’t know he 
was there — I will never do it again.” 

For Mariuccia, determined that the padrone should 
have no just cause of complaint, had confided to Gian- 
nella a terrible secret: the Signor Professor never 
hurt little girls who obeyed orders, but it was well 
known that he had once gobbled up a certain naughty 
child who did not keep out of his way! 


CHAPTER IV 


T he Principessa di Santafede was a lady of 
gravely gracious manners, iron prejudices and 
active piety, and she entertained a profound belief in 
the necessity of her own class to the well-being of the 
world. So far as she was concerned secular history 
contained but one record worthy of study and imita- 
tion, the record of the noble houses of Rome. Each 
tradition and regulation connected with these was not 
only a rubric but a dogma. To believe and act there- 
upon was to find social salvation; all who rejected 
these articles of faith perish from her consciousness; 
their names were erased from her libro d’oro,’’ and 
they ceased to be. No taint of novelty ‘had cast its 
shadow over her education. Except that the history 
books were thicker and the spelling modernized, the 
teaching she received in the convent along with all the 
other noble damsels in Rome was the same as that 
which had been bestowed on her ancestresses for gen- 
erations past. It had proved entirely sufficient for 
those eminent ladies, and neither parents nor in- 
structors could see any reason for changing a detail 
of it. There would be Roman nobles so long as the 
world lasted; their vast establishments would move 
ponderously and surely as they had always moved; 
and a girl brought from her convent to be placed at 
the head of such an establishment had but to leave 
39 


40 


GIANNELLA 


its conduct to the responsible persons, the major- 
domos, and stewards, and housekeepers, descended 
from many generations of officials who had served 
the same “ Eccellentissima Casa ” in the same capaci- 
ties. She had but to watch and copy her seniors in 
order to fulfill her obligations in society, in matrimony, 
in maternity, to the complete satisfaction of all con- 
cerned. Life was quite simple if only people did 
their duty. 

Political crises would occur, of course; the riots 
and revolutions of 1848, for instance, had been 
most disturbing. But they had only strengthened 
the beliefs of right-thinking persons, for, behold, 
they had passed by like a wave of the sea breaking 
against the rocks, leaving everything as it was before 
and as it would be “ in saecula sseculorum ” so far as 
Rome was concerned — and Rome was the world. 

Prince Santafede had died when their only son was 
quite a child, and the responsibilities thus devolving 
on her sufficiently accounted for his widow’s grave 
outlook on life. It was, however, a peaceful and 
happy life, clouded by few real anxieties, since 
Onorato had now reached the age of eighteen without 
giving any serious trouble. He was a cheerful, 
warm-hearted boy, with no more fixed aversion to 
study than the remainder of his contemporaries. 
Accompanied by his tutor, a learned ecclesiastic, he 
had attended the proper lectures at the university, 
and, though his education included only the classics 
and humanities, it had given him all that was then 
required of a gentleman, fluent and elegant Latin, 


GIANNELLA 


41 


a working acquaintance with his own and foreign 
literatures, charming manners, and a fitting sense of 
what was due to himself and others. If there was 
one cloud in his mother’s large sky, it was caused 
by the fact that he did not take her views on the 
sacredness of family traditions in one or two minor 
directions, notably that of the expenditure on the 
stables. Onorato had no other extravagances, but he 
insisted on riding and driving magnificent imported 
horses, declaring that it was a public duty to set a 
higher standard than the prevailing one in such mat- 
ters. The Princess and Onorato’s lamented father 
had been perfectly contented with their six pairs of 
coal-black horses, bred on their own lands with hun- 
dreds of others destined to be sold all over Italy and 
Austria. The animals had been driven and cared 
for by coachmen and grooms also born on the estates ; 
and the Princess could not imagine anything more 
splendid and appropriate than the high caleche on C. 
springs in which she took her daily airing; the deep, 
hearse-like berline swung on leather bands, which 
carried her to parties, seemed the perfection of com- 
fort and safety; and she felt something like reverence 
for the yellow stage coach, with blazoned panels and 
glass sides, with gold-fringed hammercloth and tas- 
seled straps to which the three dazzlingly arrayed 
footmen hung behind. It was only brought out on 
grand occasions, for audiences with the Pope or 
Ambassadors’ receptions, and the Princess felt as if 
her skies were falling when her son, a Principe del 
Solio ” (supporter of the throne), climbing . into it 


42 


GIANNELLA 


in all his magnificence of doublet and ruff, gold chain 
and sword, to go and attend the Holy Father on 
Easter morning, called it a “ lumbering old pumpkin,” 
and declared that if he had his way he would make 
a bonfire of it in the courtyard. His revolutionary 
ideas had not only demonstrated themselves by im- 
porting foreign horses, but by filling the coachhouses 
with French carriages and the stables with English 
grooms, barbarians who, while fulfilling their other 
duties faithfully enough, grumbled at having to go to 
church, and thus deeply scandalized the rest of the 
well-drilled household. 

The Princess’s brother, Cardinal Cestaldini, Pro- 
fessor Bianchi’s learned patron and friend, tried to 
console his sister for her son’s equine irregularities 
by pointing out that they were not so extravagant as 
they appeared, since Onorato was bent on improving 
the Roman breed and thus adding considerable value 
to the Santafede horse farms; also that a young man 
might spend his money on worse things than horses. 
This was at all events an innocent taste, and, seeing 
that Onorato had no inclination for deeply serious 
pursuits, and was too young to get married — well, 
his mother must be patient and not estrange him by 
any undue severity. Paolo Cestaldini’s own happy 
lot inspired him with much indulgence for those less 
blessed. He felt that few were as fortunate as him- 
self, delivered from worldly distractions at the start 
by what he considered the undeserved grace of a 
religious vocation, and then provided with the most 
elevating and beneficent occupation for his leisure. 


GIANNELLA 


43 


In the delights of Art and Archaeology, subjects 
which he could discuss with the most learned, he 
found an inexhaustible source of interest and recrea- 
tion. Incapable of an ungenerous or insincere 
thought, he was merciful and gentle in his judgment 
of others. Religion, which had built up round his 
sister a wall of defense against the temptations which 
assault those in the world, had turned the other side 
of its golden shield to him, and mellowed and en- 
riched the man’s ascetic nature and broadened his 
mind while it refined his appreciations. To the mar- 
ried woman it was a fortress, to the lonely prelate, 
a garden. 

The Princess listened rather despondently to her 
brother’s encouraging exhortations. They did not 
alter her conviction that Onorato was on the wrong 
road, and she resolved to pray more earnestly (good 
soul, that would hardly have been possible) and to 
apply herself with more fervor to her many works 
of charity in order to obtain his reformation. Full 
of these thoughts, she stopped at the church of San 
Severino on her way home, dismissed her carriage, 
since the Palazzo Santa fede was only a few hundred 
yards away, and found a good deal of comfort in 
saying her prayers in the silent, dusky church. 

Emerging half-an-hour later, she saw just before 
her in the street, a servant woman leading a little 
girl by the hand. The airy poise of the little figure, 
the light step and quick turn of the small head, took 
the Princess’s fancy. Above all, the shining golden 
braids hanging down to the child’s waist aroused her 


44 


GIANNELLA 


admiration, for to be fair is to be loved, in dark 
Romagna. Mariuccia and Giannella, unconscious 
that their unapproachably illustrious landlady was 
following them, passed up the street, turned into the 
piazza, and disappeared under the arched entrance of 
the palace. By the time the Princess reached it, they 
were lost to view round the turn of the colonnade. 
She paused to ask the porter, who was grounding his 
tasseled staff and sweeping the pavement with his 
hat, if he could tell her who the child was. Did she- 
belong to anyone in the palazzo? 

The Excellency was informed that the woman con- 
ducting her was Professor Bianchi’s servant, and 
that the little girl had been brought by a contadina 
from the country a few days before. Nothing more 
was known. The ‘‘ donna ’’ rarely spoke to anyone. 
Did the Excellency wish inquiries to be made? 

Certainly not, the Princess replied. Professor 
Bianchi’s family was his private affair. She dis- 
couraged all gossip about her tenants. Ferretti, the 
maestro di casa, was responsible for them and she 
never interfered with his wise and careful manage- 
ment. Still, he had told her, when letting the rooms, 
that the Professor was a bachelor; and Bianchi was 
sufficiently distinguished in his own learned circle 
for his rather crabbed characteristics to have become 
more or less known to the public. The Princess, as 
she mounted the broad marble stairs to her own 
apartment, wondered whether the child were some 
relation of his, and felt a certain pity for the bright 
little thing if she were really condemned to live 


GIANNELLA 


45 

with the parsimonious man of science and his grim- 
looking servant. 

She was soon to know more about Giannella. 
Mariuccia was just now terribly puzzled by a new 
responsibility which immediately faced her. At 
seven years of age children must begin to go to school, 
and how was this to be managed for Giannella? 
There were free schools all over the city, kept by 
the nuns for the children of the poor. The little ones 
were collected from their homes in the morning by 
trusty persons who called for them and brought them 
back in the evening, receiving a tiny monthly sum 
from the parents for the service. That was all very 
well, and the nuns took fine care of the small people 
during the day; but Mariuccia was obstinately set 
on one point, and she meant to fight for her convic- 
tions; la Giannella was a lady. Providence above 
seemed to have overlooked the fact and had steadily 
refused to furnish the wherewithal to keep it before 
the eyes of the world; but the self-constituted rep- 
resentative of Providence on earth would take no 
denial on the subject, and nothing would have induced 
her to let Giannella be herded with the children of the 
city plebeians, to learn their rough ways, their com- 
mon speech, to remember when she grew up that 
she had been as one of them. It was one thing to be 
a paying nursling in the clean, rich country, cared for 
and cherished by pious, respectable people like 
Stefano and Candida, who kept their boys and girls 
in the fear of God and would have punished a bad 

word, an act of disobedience or even a disrespectful 
4 


46 


GIANNELLA 


glance, with a sound beating; it was quite another 
to mix with low-born children of the city, whose 
parents, coming from no one knew where, owned no 
feudal master, no foot of land, and had not been 
obliged to live up to the stern standard of morals and 
manners required in the proud ‘‘ castelli/’ Giannella 
had learned her catechism and many pretty hymns 
from the parish priest, and the first elements of read- 
ing from some Franciscan nuns at Castel Gandolfo. 
Who was to take up the good work and endow her 
with all the mysterious instruction which it seemed 
a lady should possess by the time her hair went up 
and her skirts came down? 

Mariuccia put the question to her spiritual director, 
a Capuchin monk of great age and sanctity, to whom 
she had been commended by the Curato at home when 
she first came to Rome as a young woman some 
eighteen years before, and to whom she had been 
loyally constant, tramping to his distant monastery 
on the Palatine once a month from whatever part of 
the town she happened to be living in. He could not 
help her much, although he said he would keep the 
matter in mind and see if some charitable person 
could get the little girl received as a boarder in one of 
the many convent schools. But Mariuccia felt that 
this was a vague outlook, and she confided her trouble 
to the ever-sympathetic Fra Tommaso, who lis- 
tened with his usual interest and curiosity to her 
story. 

‘‘ But,” he objected, when she had ceased speaking, 

what has become of the relations who used to send 


GIANNELLA 


47 

you the money for her? Will they not pay any 
longer ? ” 

“ Fra Tommaso mio/' she replied, “ I must tell 
you something. It is now a long time since they 
sent any money for Giannella. Perhaps they are ill 
— or affairs may not be going so very well over 
there — what do I know? Meanwhile I could not 
let the child want, so you see — ” 

The sacristan pursed his lips and shook his head. 
‘‘ That is bad — very bad. And has Signor Bianchi 
been paying for her ? That would be a miracle 
indeed.’’ 

“ No,” said poor Mariuccia, driven to tell the hu- 
miliating truth at last, “ I have had to find the money 
myself. Of course the relations will repay me when 
they have time, but meanwhile two of my nieces have 
got married, and that cost me a great deal; and now, 
until I hear from over there,” her thumb went over 
her shoulder indicating the unknown regions where 
the Brockmann family was supposed to have its being, 
“ I do not know what to do. Giannella ought to go 
to a good school. She is seven years old, and of an in- 
telligence — God bless her! But I cannot manage 
it.” 

During this speech Fra Tommaso had been think- 
ing with all his might. Suddenly he banged his 
forehead with his clenched fist. ‘‘ Head of a pump- 
kin that thou art ! ” he exclaimed to the delinquent 
member. ‘‘We have got it — and I never even 
thought of it. That Principessa of yours — the San- 
tafede — she was a Cestaldini.” 


48 


GIANNELLA 


This piece of genealogical information appeared to 
electrify Mariuccia. “ But what are you telling me? ” 
she cried. Is it true ? ” 

‘‘Of course it is true/’ he asseverated; “a Cestal- 
dini, the daughter of the old prince who died m his 
palace at Castel Gandolfo just after Stefano got his 
leg broken riding the bad mule. Don’t you remember, 
the church was hung with black for a month? And 
you snipped off a piece of the stuff to dress a doll 
like a ‘ seminarista ’ to tease me with, because I 
wanted to be a priest? Why, you belong to her 
father’s people — she must help you. Go to the 
Princess at once.” 

“Of course she would help me,” Mariuccia replied 
rather sadly, “if I could ever get to speak to her. 
But that is impossible, quite impossible! I should 
have to ask the porter to ask the lady’s maid to ask 
Signora Dati, the Princess’s companion, to ask the 
Excellency — and the message would never reach 
Signora Dati. Those familiars have no hearts. We 
must think of something else.” 

“Leave it to me to be done,” Fra Tommaso said; 
“ I will see about it.” 

It was Mariuccia’s turn to be curious. “ But 
how?” she asked. “Would it not be as hard for 
you as for me to speak with the Excellency ? ” 

“No,” he replied; “she comes every morning to 
the seven o’clock Mass, and I could speak to her quite 
easily. But I have a better way. Behold, is not our 
Cardinal her brother ? And has he not always been 
for me of a goodness, of a condescension? Always 


GIANNELLA 


49 


a kind word or a little joke when he sees me. ‘ How 
does it go, Tommaso? Have you worn out any more 
bell ropes with that Herculean ringing ? ’ ( Hercules 

was the first sacristan of St. Peters, you know, Sora 
Mariuccia, and was so strong that he could ring 
the big bell with his hands.) Or else he says, ‘You 
are looking thin, my son. You should eat some of 
your fat pigeons.’ Ah, what an egregious ecclesiastic, 
what a man of learning, and yet so simple! To him 
I will relate these facts, and he will say to his sister, 
‘ What is this ? I learn that you have Botti’s 
Mariuccia in your house and you have never sent 
for her to let her kiss your hand? But this is great 
neglect! What would our papa of good memory 
have said at your thus overlooking one of his people? 
Let it be remedied at once ! ’ ” 

Mariuccia clasped her hands, “ Fra Tommaso mio,” 
she wailed, “ I should die of fright if I had to pass 
all those famigliari in the sala and go into those fine 
rooms — and in these old clothes ! If I were at home 
I could wear the costume — but here! No, since you 
are so condescending, so kind, do this. Tell that 
good Eminenza all about Giannella and how I am 
astrologizing my head already to feed and clothe her 
— for the padrone will not give her so much as a 
crumb from his table — and get him to ask the Prin- 
cess to send her to school. That indeed would be 
an action of the greatest merit and the Madonna will 
accompany you wherever you go ! ” 


CHAPTER V 


A FEW days later Fra Tommaso found an op- 
portunity of laying Mariuccia’s case before the 
Cardinal. The latter usually paid a short visit to the 
church in the late afternoon, on his return from the 
drive which was as much a part of his daily life as 
the reading of his breviary. His Mass was always 
said in his private chapel, but he found in the large, 
quiet church greater space of detachment, an at- 
mosphere rich with the devotion of centuries, and an 
impersonal companionship very sympathetic to him 
in the chapels and monuments which had been the 
silent witnesses of his silent spirit’s growth. It was 
but a few steps from the church to his own door, and 
the constant presence of his chaplain and servants 
on all other occasions made the short solitary walk a 
pleasure in itself. 

Fra Tommaso ventured to ask him to come into 
the dark home of bell ropes and candlesticks and there 
with many apologies for obtruding such common 
affairs, on his noble attention, explained poor 
Mariuccia’s perplexities and besought the Eminenza’s 
intervention with his illustrious and charitable sister. 

The Cardinal listened to him with much attention, 
disentangled the real facts from the picturesque ac- 
companiments of explanation and gesture in which 
the sacristan involved them at every turn. When 

50 


GIANNELLA 


SI 

Fra Tommaso mentioned Professor Bianchi, the pre- 
late nodded his head, saying, Ah, the Signor Pro- 
fessore is known to me. He is a man much respected, 
also very much occupied. Doubtless he has not had 
time to think about the little girl. He is not rich, 
and it is not to be expected that he should bear the 
charges of her education. I will speak to the Prin- 
cess and see what can be done.’’ 

Fra Tommaso broke out into expressions of devout 
gratitude, and the Cardinal smiled on him and slipped 
away. He had a strong feeling of kindness for the 
cheerful, humble servant of the Fathers, a feeling 
which, years ago, had been one of acute pity for a 
brokenhearted boy who had nourished high hopes of 
entering the Church — open to peasant as to prince 
if God have bestowed on him the needful gifts — and 
who had found it impossible to assimilate the re- 
quired learning. All other requisites of the true 
vocation were there, singleness of heart, deep humil- 
ity, fervor and faith. But some congenital defect of 
brain, unperceived until the intellect attempted to 
grapple with the difficulties of Latin and theology, 
barred the way for Tommaso. When this was so 
apparent that his patient instructors were obliged to 
give their unfavorable verdict, the shock had almost 
overcome his reason and his faith. Paolo Cestaldini, 
then a young priest just ordained, had rescued both. 
He had kept the boy near him for some time, and had 
only let him go when he saw that resignation had 
done its work, when he had enabled Tommaso to 
realize that the glory of God required service of many 


52 


GIANNELLA 


grades, and that all the virtues of a religious vocation 
can be as well acquired, preserved, and practised, in 
the humblest as in the most illustrious of these. 

The result of the conversation under the bell tower 
was a visit from good Signora Dati, the humble but 
devoted companion of the Princess and the chief in- 
termediary of her many charities, to Mariuccia, who 
was quite overcome by such an honor. The Princess 
had two excellent qualities of the administrator; she 
spared no trouble and lost no time in learning all 
that could be learned about a case presented for her 
consideration; and then she took proper time to decide 
on her course of action. The immense ramifications 
of charities in Rome provided answers to almost all 
the problems connected with the relief of suffering 
and poverty. The first step was to catalogue the 
applicant’s needs. So Signora Dati was commis- 
sioned to find out to what class of society the golden- 
haired waif on the other side of the courtyard be- 
longed, and also to learn whatever she could of the 
morals of her defunct parents. The Princess was 
convinced that heredity played a great part in the 
drama of development and should be suppressed or 
fostered according to its character. 

The Professor was absent when Mariuccia’s visitor 
climbed the long stairs and rang at the green door. 
She was a thin, pale little lady, with the eyes of a 
saint and the mouth of a judge. Her costume gave 
almost the impression of a conventual habit, with its 
full black skirt and silk shoulder cape and black lace 
head covering. This last indicated with delicate pre- 


GIANNELLA 


53 


cision the exact rank of the wearer, an educated and 
refined dependent, placed half way between the 
woman of rank, who could wear a bonnet, and the 
woman of the people, who must go bare-headed if 
she would preserve her reputation. 

Signora Dati had become an expert in charity. It 
was impossible to deceive her as to character and 
veracity. After half-an-hour’s conversation with 
Mariuccia — conversation during which the latter 
stood respectfully at a little distance from her inter- 
locutor’s chair and gave her story with admirable 
directness, uncomplicated with legends about Gian- 
nella’s relations, and with a complete unconsciousness 
of any merit on her own part — Signora Dati was 
satisfied on all the points which she had come to in- 
vestigate. Giannella’s parents had been respectable 
if unfortunate people; they had been duly married; 
there was apparently no taint of crime or disease to 
descend to their child. Only one thing more remained 
to be ascertained — what kind of training in bearing 
and manners had this good but uneducated woman 
and her family been able to give the child ? 

And now I would like to see the little girl,” she 
said ; ‘‘ will you call her in ? ” 

Mariuccia stamped away into the kitchen and re- 
turned, pushing Giannella into the room before her. 
The child stood still for an instant looking at the 
the visitor. Then she came forward, raised Signora 
Dati’s hand to her fresh young lips, kissed it, and 
stepped back, looking the lady full in the face with 
her innocent gray eyes, waiting to be spoken to. The 


54 


GIANNELLA 


commissioner of charities, whose visit had purposely 
been unannounced, returned the glance, taking in the 
smoothly braided hair, the round cheeks and clean 
dimpled hands, the nicely ironed frock and pinafore, 
the spotless stockings and strong strap shoes. An 
immense respect for Mariuccia rose in her heart. 
What it must have cost the woman to keep the child 
like this — on four scudi a month ! It was heroism 
— nothing less. And the manners were perfect; 
that, however, was not so surprising, seeing that all 
Giannella’s life had been spent among the rigidly 
self-respecting inhabitants of the castelli. It was only 
in large towns that the poorer classes had become in- 
subordinate and vulgar. 

After a few questions and answers. Signora Dati 
rose to go. Mariuccia accompanied her to the door, 
and there, Giannella having been sent back to the 
kitchen, she said that the Princess would consider the 
question of the child^s education and would com- 
municate with her as soon as it had been decided 
upon. Meanwhile it would be well to preserve silence 
on the matter, as her Excellency did not care to have 
her charities noised abroad. 

When Mariuccia went back to her interrupted task 
of preparing the padrone’s dinner, Giannella was 
standing at the window watching a flock of pigeons 
hovering over a small terrace on the roof of the op- 
posite building. It was on a higher level than the Bian- 
chi apartment, and the parapet shut out any view of 
what might lie behind it, but the parapet itself was gay 
with flowers ; the deep red carnations that the Romans 


GIANNELLA 


55 


love hung far over the edge, swaying in the sun and 
breeze; a little lemon-tree in a green box held up its 
pale golden fruit among shining leaves; the pigeons 
whirred about as if in great excitement, while every 
now and then a dark masculine head bobbed up for 
a moment above the line of red bricks, and then dis- 
appeared again. Giannella had forgotten all about 
the visitor who had come to decide her fate, and 
was completely absorbed in the brightness and move- 
ment across the way. 

Mariuccia came behind her and laid a hand on her 
shoulder, leaning out to see what so interested the 
child. Then she smiled, and said, half to herself, 
“ That poor Fra Tommaso ! He is at it again, feed- 
ing his birds and talking to them as if they were 
Christians. Shall I tell you something, Giannella? 
When I took you out to Castel Gandolfo — and you 
were no longer than that — (she measured half-a-yard 
on her arm) and as fat as a little calf — I brought 
back two pigeons in a cage for Fra Tommaso, think- 
ing he would cook and eat them. Figure to yourself 
piccolina, that he made a little house for them up 
there on his loggia, and fed them with Indian corn, 
and now behold, a family! They are his children, 
those fowls, and he takes as much care of them as I 
do of you.” 

“ I would like to go up and see them, and get some 
of the garofoli,” Giannella replied wistfully. ‘‘ Zia 
Mariuccia, do take me up to Fra Tommaso’s loggia.” 

What an idea I ” Mariuccia exclaimed. ‘‘ Why, 
no woman has ever entered that house. It is strict 


GIANNELLA 


56 

clausura. Only men can go in — the Fathers and 
their pupils live there. They do not want to see little 
girls ! '' 

Are they like the Signor Professore then?” 
Giannella asked, looking across at the tall conventual 
building with a shiver of fear. “ Is the Signor Pro- 
fessore a padre too? ” 

‘‘ No,” said Mariuccia, looking down at the child 
in amusement. Then she added impressively, “ He 
is a most learned gentleman, and for that reason dis- 
likes noise and disturbance. He was very angry when 
you knocked over the chair yesterday. You must be 
more careful, Giannella.” 

To Mariuccia’s amazement the child flung herself 
against her and broke out into wild entreaty. “ Zia 
Mariuccia, do please take me back to Mamma Can- 
dida! It makes me so sad to be so quiet all the 
time. Mamma Candida never scolded about the 
noise unless there was quarreling — and I want 
Annetta and Richetto and the dog and the pigs and 
the donkey — so much ! Oh, do take me back ! ” 
Her little mouth was quivering with earnestness and 
her eyes were brimming with tears which she kept 
back bravely. The loneliness and confinement of the 
dull apartment, the terror of the padrone, and 
Mariuccia’s silent, undemonstrative ways, were be- 
coming more than the child could bear. Her heart 
was breaking for the cheery, populous house in the 
olive orchard, where something was always happen- 
ing, where out-of-doors freedom and a tribe of chil- 


GIANNELLA 


57 

dren and animals provided playground and playmates 
day in, day out. 

Her cry brought pain to the staunch heart of the 
woman. She had not realized that the child could 
be unhappy while she herself was straining every 
nerve to assure her welfare. Then, with a sigh, she 
accepted the fact. Of course it was dull and sad for 
the little thing here. Who was she, old Mariuccia, to 
take the place of busy, smiling Candida, of the laugh- 
ing, chattering boys and girls who had been as brothers 
and sisters to Giannella? She remembered that even 
as a grown woman, a confirmed spinster of twenty, 
she had wept some bitter tears when she realized that 
she had left her ‘‘ paese,” with all its friendliness and 
freedom, to live shut up in narrow rooms in the city 
among strangers. So she sat down and took Gian- 
nella on her knee and spoke with unusual gentleness. 

‘‘ Listen, cocca mia. It is not possible to take you 
back to Mamma Candida any more, to stay, though 
if you are good you shall go to see her some day. 
You know you are a signorina, and your poor papa 
of good memory would not have wished you to be 
brought up as a contadina. The good God has 
caused each one to be born in the position where he 
can best save his soul. Annetta and Richetto and 
the others must work among the olives and the grapes, 
and take care of the animals — that is their destiny, 
and they will be happy, but it is not yours. You 
must go to school and learn to read and write, and 
keep your hands clean for fine embroidery and other 


58 


GIANNELLA 


things that ladies may work at. And I think soon 
you will go to a beautiful school where there are 
most instructed nuns who will teach you all this, and 
also many other children of your own age with whom 
you can play and study. Thus you will be happy, 
and by-and-by — ” 

“Yes, by-and-by? Oh, please go on!” Giannella 
exclaimed, her eyes shining at the prospect suddenly 
unfolded to her. 

Mariuccia looked up at the blue Roman sky, so 
near and kind in the clearness of noonday. Yes, 
by-and-by? What possible future lay before the for- 
saken child for whom she was so obstinately pre- 
serving the privileges of gentle birth? “By-and-by? 
He Giannella, I must not tell you everything at once. 
Arciprete 1 ” as the midday gun boomed its signal 
from Sant’ Angelo and every bell in the city began to 
ring. “ Run and lay the cloth for the padrone while 
I get the soup and the bollito off the fire. Poveretta 
me, the soup is like water. But if that blessed man 
will only let me buy half-a-pound of meat for it, 
what am I to do? To think that a man of his in- 
struction can stay hungry with his pockets full of 
money. What a vice is avarice ! Libera nos Domine I ” 

Mariuccia need really not have prayed against that 
temptation, though she had often gone hungry of late 
when there were still a few coppers in the corner of 
her handkerchief. La Giannella had a fine appetite — 
and at that age who could have let the child remain 
unsatisfied ? 

Another week passed, and when Signora Dati came 


GIANNELLA 


59 


to say that on the following day Mariuccia was to 
bring Giannella to kiss the hand of the Princess, after 
which she herself would conduct her to a convent of 
Sisters of Charity on the other side of the river, where 
the little girl would be received as a boarder, and 
would have every benefit of education, as well as 
fine air. The convent, she explained, was really a 
villa, and the Sisters the kindest and best of in- 
structors. Mariuccia was too overjoyed to speak, 
until she remembered that for such a school a cer- 
tain outfit would be necessary; but Signora Dati in- 
formed her that the Excellency, out of her great 
kindness of heart, had provided for this, and that 
Mariuccia must repay her in prayers for her inten- 
tions, and Giannella, the chief beneficiary, by the same, 
coupled with model conduct and great application to 
her studies. They were to come to the Princess’s 
apartment at ten o’clock punctually. 

So the next morning Mariuccia, leading Giannella 
by the hand, was met by Signora Dati and conducted 
through a long series of somberly gorgeous rooms, 
such as she had never entered in her life, and finally 
ushered into the presence of her illustrious patroness. 
The Princess was still a comparatively young woman, 
tall and graceful, with a calm, thoughtful face, on 
which her responsibilities had impressed something 
like austerity. The weight of her guardianship to 
Onorato, heir to the great Santafede estates, had 
come upon her so early as to tinge her incompletely 
developed character with melancholy, loyally com- 
bated by religious principle, it is true, yet potent 


6o 


GIANNELLA 


enough to make her a somewhat exigent and depres- 
sing parent for her light-hearted son. Naturally 
inclined to piety, she had come to feel that only by 
multiplying good works, by denying herself many 
little pleasures and luxuries in order to respond to 
every genuine appeal, could she obtain from Heaven 
the treasure she coveted, sanctification for her son’s 
soul, happiness and prosperity for his material life. 
She was even now trying to light on the right wife 
for him, having already reached the point of over- 
strained conscientiousness which unconsciously treats 
Providence as the weaker party to an alliance, a party 
who will not move a step without powerful co-opera- 
tion. All this was a little morbid, and might in the 
end endanger both her own happiness and that of 
Onorato, but meanwhile was an active agent for good 
in the affairs of obscure and oppressed people, notably, 
at this moment, those of Giannella Brockmann and 
her one friend, Mariuccia Botti. 

Giannella was big-eyed with awe when she was led 
to where the Princess was sitting at a writing-table 
covered with account-books and works of devotion. 
On entering the dim and splendid rooms the child had 
felt inclined to make the sign of the cross and 
go down on her knees; the space and silence and 
crimson hangings seemed necessarily to belong to a 
church. The Princess looked at her without speak- 
ing for a moment. Giannella was so pretty, so whole- 
some and sweet in appearance, that Teresa Santa fede 
experienced a passing regret that she had been denied 


GIANNELLA 


6i 


a little daughter to brighten her lonely life. But 
this weakly human sentiment was at once suppressed, 
and when Giannella had kissed her hand the Princess 
made her a stereotyped speech on the moral advantages 
she was about to enjoy and the obligation to make 
the most of them by obedience and zeal. Giannella 
did not understand more than half of it, but she felt 
that something very important was happening, and 
when the Excellency gave her a rosary of white 
beads, with a very bright silver medal, her eyes danced 
with pleasure. This wonderful lady seemed as kind 
as the Madonna and as rich as the Be f ana, the bene- 
ficent witch who walks over the roofs at Epiphany 
and brings presents to good children. 

Then Mariuccia was allowed to express her thanks, 
which she did very eloquently, and without any shy- 
ness at all, feeling more at home in the presence of a 
Cestaldini, one of the rulers of her clan, than she had 
ever felt since she left the fortress of all her tradi- 
tions in the hills. The Princess asked one or two 
questions which showed that she remembered the 
family; the hand-kissing was repeated; Signora Dati 
received some murmured instructions, and the audi- 
ence was over. Five minutes later Mariuccia stood 
under the porte cochere and watched Giannella being 
put into the closed carriage by Signora Dati. There 
was a glimpse of the round little face and the golden 
hair behind the glass, the carriage rumbled out, and 
Mariuccia turned to climb the four flights of stairs 
to the Professor’s apartment. There she applied her- 


5 


62 


GIANNELLA 


self rather vindictively to her work, wondering why 
the granting of her dearest wish should result in mak- 
ing her feel so cross and lonely. 

It was not until three weeks later that Signor 
Bianchi discovered; Giannella’s absence. He could 
not find a certain copy of The Archceological Review 
and called Mariuccia to look for it, remarking with 
asperity, “ That is what comes of having a child 
running about the house. You will have to send 
the little nuisance away if this happens again. Of 
course she has taken it.” 

‘‘ Signor Professore,” said Mariuccia, facing him 
with square shoulders and a terrific frown, “ it is 
you who are a child. But no, an infant in arms has 
eyes and ears — you, man of a thousand learnings, 
are becoming blind and deaf. Giannella left the 
house three weeks ago. The ’lustrissima Principessa 
has sent her to a fine school — and may every bene- 
diction be hers for her charity. You say the coffee 
is like water. Mamma mia, I had to put the last of 
my own into it to give it a color at all. Yours was 
finished yesterday, and you would not give me the 
money to buy any more. Now then, here is your 
purse — in the pocket of your paletot — I must have 
two pauls at once, or you will get no supper to-night. 
Come, padroncino, be good. You frighten me — 
you consume before my eyes. There, I bring you 
cheese and dried figs. They have cost you nothing 
— my brother sent them — eat, and I will find your 
blessed paper for you.” 

Giannella was gone; the brief enchanting reign of 


GIANNELLA 


63 


her sunny little presence in the dingy apartment was 
over; and Mariuccia’s other child, the owlish old 
young man who did not know how to take care of 
himself, was once more received into grace. She had 
to mother something. 


CHAPTER VI 


I N the sun-flooded gardens and airy rooms of the 
convent across the river nine radiant years of 
Giannella’s childhood and girlhood slipped happily 
away. The round of lessons and play, the cycle of 
workdays and feastdays brought constant interest and 
variety, and the companionship of children of her 
own age, passing from class to class with her in 
the emulation which involved no rivalry or conten- 
tion, satisfied all the wants of her heart. The nuns 
were as kind as Mamma Candida, though they in- 
spired a profound respect and an unquestioning awe 
for their ever- just rulings. There were pets to care 
for, flowers to tend, beautiful little shrines to decorate 
them with if one had been very good. All this was 
consciously enjoyed; less understood, but of lasting 
importance was the religious training which gathered 
the little comrades into companies first under the white 
badge of the Guardian Angels — this for the youngest 
of all; then, at the time of First Communion, under 
the green one of St. Joseph; and finally, when the 
hour was approaching for grown girls to return to their 
homes in the world and take up the whole duty of 
women, hung round their necks the coveted blue rib- 
bon and silver medal which marked their worthiness 
to be enrolled among the ‘‘ Enfants de Marie.” 
These influences gave a deep stability to Giannella’s 
64 


GIANNELLA 


65 


healthy normal character, and laid in her heart the 
foundations of peace and right-thinking for which 
she was to be deeply thankful later on. 

Once or twice in the year Mariuccia was allowed 
to come early in the morning and take Giannella 
home for a day, bringing her back before Ave Marie; 
and whenever it was possible she made time to go to 
the convent, bearing some humble offering of fruits 
and cakes from the castello for the Suore,” and 
satisfy herself that the child was well and happy. 
The Princess came at stated periods, notably at the 
great Feasts, when prizes were distributed and won- 
derful little plays representing religious allegories 
were got up and acted — with what throbbing ex- 
citement — by the best and whitest lambs in the flock, 
those who had had no bad marks since the last great 
event of the kind. Since virtue, and not dramatic 
talent, was the test of proficiency, the good nuns had 
to work hard over these entertainments, but the result 
was always satisfactory to them and their troupe, 
and was believed to afford the highest artistic pleasure 
to the noble patronesses, of whom Princess Santa- 
fede was the most distinguished. 

The Sisters kept open school for all the poorer 
children of the quarter, but this part of their estab- 
lishment was divided from that devoted to the 
boarders by a twenty- foot wall, and no taint of the 
streets was ever wafted across that impassable bar- 
rier. Within the charmed circle, the girls, all of the 
better middle class, were as jealously guarded, as well 
taught, and fed, and housed, as Teresa Santa fede her- 


66 


GIANNELLA 


self had been in the aristocratic seclusion of her own 
convent school, where only the daughters of nobles 
were received. The one difference was that at Santa 
Eulalia less time was given to books and more to fine 
needlework and embroidery, the only accomplishments 
by which in those prehistoric days a refined woman 
in moderate circumstances could earn a living. 
There were no lay schools for girls, so there were no 
openings for teachers except as unpaid assistants to 
the nuns, who employed some half dozen of their old 
pupils, homeless orphans like Giannella, to help with 
the younger children. The Superior confided to the 
Princess that she would gladly keep Giannella in that 
capacity, her exquisite needlework and talent for de- 
sign making her a valuable help in the embroidery 
department. But the Princess replied that the girl 
had received special training in these subjects because 
there was a person — the woman who occasionally 
came to see her — who had made great sacrifices on 
her behalf and for whom she could now, at sixteen, 
do something in return. She could earn money at 
home; there seemed to be no difficulty about her re- 
siding with Mariuccia Botti under Signor Bianchi’s 
roof — and work could, always be obtained for her 
there. 

It was with great regret that Giannella left this, 
her second, home, to return to the Professor’s apart- 
ment in the Palazzo Santa fede. Yet she was glad 
that the moment had come when she could begin to 
repay the untiring goodness which had saved her 
from the hard and lonely fate of the forsaken child 


GIANNELLA 


67 

and procured for her the education which in time 
would enable her to earn her living in retirement and 
peace. No anxieties for the future whispered trouble 
to her heart. Mariuccia would be ever at her side ; and 
in the background was the beneficent Princess, always 
accessible through kind Signora Dati, promising that 
materials and sales should not fail for the beautiful 
work which the girl really loved. So, after tearful 
partings with teachers and companions, Giannella was 
fetched home, her litle box full of naif farewell pres- 
ents of pictures of Saints, tiny pincushions, muslin 
bags stuffed with gagia ” blossoms and verbena 
leaves which would keep their sweet scent for twenty 
years to come — artificial flowers and embroidered 
handkerchiefs — all her inestimably precious, and 
quite valueless, earthly possessions. 

Mariuccia told her to bestow these in a small empty 
room beyond the kitchen, where she could set up 
her embroidery frame close to the big window which 
looked more to the sky than to the street, and where 
she could keep her delicate work free from all danger 
of dust or accident. As for sleeping alone, that was 
out of the question. Giannella had never . tried it in 
her life and was sure she should never close an eye, 
accustomed as she was to the big dormitory with its 
rows of white beds and the curtained sanctuary in the 
corner, where the guardian nun was supposed to lie 
awake saying her prayers all night, listening for the 
first sound of whispering or larking, to issue forth 
with dire retribution for the offenders. Mariuccia 
had made full preparation for her Giannella in her 


68 


GIANNELLA 


own room, a windowless apartment on the dark side 
of the passage. In it had stood for years a spindle- 
legged green bed of impaired constitution, replaced, 
with much grumbling from the padrone, by a stronger 
one when Mariuccia’s wooden weight had three 
separate times broken through it with a thump on the 
bricks in the dead of night, causing the Professor to 
start from his slumbers in such a fright that his 
nurse and guardian had to administer a sedative and 
keep him on soup for two days to restore his nerves. 
The green wreck was to have been sold at once, but 
just then a thrilling discovery of new antiquities in 
the Foro Romano came to carry Signor Bianchi’s 
mind beyond the confines of personal subjects, and he 
had been guilty of the frantic extravagance of for- 
getting to sell the bed. Mariuccia pushed it into a 
corner behind the door, and had coaxed the carpenter 
retainer, who had his workshop in a far recess of the 
colonnade, and who was forever engaged in repairing 
some of the hundreds of doors and windows in the 
vast building, to set the wreck safely on its legs again. 
One of her own two mattresses was stuffed with fresh 
cornhusks smelling of the country and brought by 
the carrettiere ally, and behold a nice white couch, 
quite fit for a “ signorina ’’ like Mariuccia’s Giannella. 

This time no permission was asked of Carlo Bianchi 
for her reception; the chains of servitude had changed 
places in the many years of Mariuccia’s abode under 
his roof and were now firmly riveted on the uncon- 
scious man, who grumbled freely when things annoyed 
him, but was too much afraid of losing his economi- 


GIANNELLA 69 

cal housekeeper ever to really quarrel with that grim 
but faithful domestic tyrant. 

So he only nodded in acquiescence when she told 
him that Giannella had come home — to stay. Gian- 
nella herself appeared a moment later, intent upon 
making her courtesy, inquiring after his respectable 
health, and thanking him for the permission to re- 
main in his house. The fine gradations of social con- 
ditions had been carefully taught her by the nuns. 
Since she had neither father nor uncles, there was no 
occasion for her ever to kiss the hand of any gentle- 
man, unless he were an ecclesiastic. Otherwise this 
honor was to be paid only to women, her superiors 
either in rank, like the Princess and the other patron- 
esses of the convent, or in age and virtue, like her 
teachers. Signora Dati, and above all the good Sora 
Mariuccia, who had done so much for her. How 
much, the Sisters did not quite know, but Giannella 
did. Signora Dati had considered it right to make 
her understand the obligations under which she lay 
to the unlettered, silent peasant woman who would 
never refer to them herself; and Giannella, though 
still remembering “ Mamma Candida ” with warmer 
affection, meant to love and cherish ‘‘ Zia Mariuccia ” 
(as she had learned to call her when among the lat- 
tePs real nephews and nieces) all her life. But 
Mariuccia recoiled in horror when Giannella attempted 
to kiss her hand. A young lady — the daughter of 
her poor master of good memory? Dove mia? No 
indeed. Nor was she to call her Aunt ” any longer, 
now that she was grown up. People must never be 


70 


GIANNELLA 


led to believe that any relationship existed between 
the ‘‘ signorina and her humble self. She was al- 
ready busy with Giannella’s future and had decided 
that some splendidly disinterested young man, of much 
educazione ” and large fortune — fifty thousand 
scudi at least — was to ask her in marriage at the 
proper time, which apparently came later for persons 
of her class than for the country folk, who reckoned 
sixteen the correct age for taking a husband and 
twenty the end of all chances in that direction. 

It was with real pride that she watched Giannella’s 
dignified little greeting to the Professor and marked 
the expression of bewilderment which came over his 
features as he turned and saw the new inmate of his 
family standing in the doorway of the study. He 
failed for the moment to connect the apparition with 
the child who had so incensed him by knocking down 
chairs nine years before. That criminal had been 
effaced from his memory for a long time, but was 
slowly recalled as he gazed at the graceful girl whose 
deep gray eyes were full of intelligent recollection 
of him. She had grown tall and straight, her fea- 
tures were delicately aquiline, giving an impression 
of maturity in spite of the dimple at the corner of 
her grave, fresh mouth; her faintly rosy skin was 
translucent with health and vitality, and her hair was 
still of the pure baby gold which had so delighted the 
hearts of Mariuccia and Candida in the old days. 
Now it framed in her pretty face in broad, shining 
braids hanging low before the ears, after the fashion 
of the day, and gathered into coils at the back. The 


GIANNELLA 


71 


convent uniform had been laid aside and Giannella 
was feeling strangely grand in the dark blue dress 
(touching the ground at last) which she had made 
for herself, under the direction of the nuns, for her 
first entrance into the great world. Many earnest 
warnings against that world’s distractions and dissi- 
pations had accompanied the making of the dan- 
gerously secular garment, in reality so rigid in its 
simplicity that but for the finely embroidered collar 
and undersleeves it might have passed for a modi- 
fication of a religious habit. The kind nuns had 
sighed in secret over Giannella’s hair, the crown of 
glory which must attract attention in church and 
street. “ Poverina, she is too pretty. That hair is 
only fit for a Saint in a picture,” they would tell each 
other, and the world is not the place for it. But 
there. Our Lady will protect her, and she has good, 
pious friends, thank Heaven.” 

The Professor, who was a gentleman, for all his 
abstracted ways, rose from his chair and bowed to 
the charming vision, saying something which was 
meant to be extremely polite. The vision courtesied 
again and disappeared; Mariuccia followed, closing 
the door behind her with a joyful snap; and Carlo 
Bianchi went back to his book, but for at least five 
minutes did not understand a word of the treatise on 
African marbles which had so enthralled him earlier. 
Who was this girl? Where had she come from? 
What on earth was she doing in his house, in his 
kitchen, as the companion of that tough old war- 
horse, Mariuccia from the Castel? He tried to piece 


72 


GIANNELLA 


together the few facts which Mariuccia had told him 
about her in the dim past. None of them quite ac- 
counted for her as he had beheld her just now, and 
at last he gave the question up, deciding that ‘‘ Gian- 
nella ” (that seemed to be her only name) was a 
problem which he would waste valuable time in trying 
to solve. 

And the Professor, who knew less about her than 
anyone else, had catalogued Giannella rightly. She 
was a problem. What future lay before her when 
she should have read through the odd dozen of gaudily 
bound prize books that she had brought back from the 
convent, when she should have exhausted the delights 
of embroidering Church vestments and bridal trous- 
seaux, the persons most interested in her welfare, 
with the one exception of Mariuccia, who, loving 
much, believed all things, would have found it hard 
to say. After all, that was scarcely their affair. If 
her fresh youth was destined to burn itself but over 
the embroidery frame in the bare little room beyond 
the kitchen, and her bright eyes to grow dim over 
invisible stitches in gossamer cambric — well, that 
was destiny's business. They had done what they 
could. 

Giannella herself was not concerned with her 
future, but she soon came to realize that the present 
was anything but cheering. The silent house, the 
confined life, the absence of young companionship, 
all struck as coldly at her heart now as it had nine 
years before when she had flung herself into Mari- 
uccia’s arms and entreated to be taken back to Mamma 


GIANNELLA 


73 


Candida and the pigs and the donkey. After the 
breezy, healthy existence at the convent, lighted by 
a thousand interests and shared by numberless bosom 
friends with whom she had grown up, it was tortur- 
ing to sit for hours over the work which had been 
made so pleasant by talk and variety over there at 
Santa Eulalia, to have only Mariuccia, ever kind but 
so unresponsive, as a companion; to see the sunshine 
through her window and watch the cloudlets chasing 
across the blue in the breeze, and know that she was 
a prisoner except for a short walk with Mariuccia 
in the morning, first to Mass at San Severino and 
then to the near shops where they did their market- 
ing. Even when work was to be returned to Sig- 
nora Dati and materials for more brought back, 
Mariuccia must accompany her, for no girl of her 
age could cross the threshold of her home alone, 
much less run the gauntlet of the grooms hanging 
round the stables and the posse of footmen in the 
Princess’s antechamber. How different from the 
liberty she had enjoyed in the suns wept gardens of 
the school beyond the river. But the teachings re- 
ceived there, and a certain strain of courage and 
]:ardihood derived from her northern ancestry, helped 
her to shake off her growing depression and show 
a cheerful face to life, whatever privations it might 
choose to bring. 

The periodical visits to Signora Dati in the great 
apartment on the other side of the courtyard became 
a distinct interest and pleasure. They gave her a 
glimpse into a large, majestic mode of life which had 


74 


GIANNELLA 


its own romance ; and though “ romance ” was a 
word Giannella had scarcely heard, its glamor warmed 
and lighted her imagination and brought her much 
wordless consolation; for romance is the very sap of 
the tree of youth and finds its own sustenance without 
external help or guidance. Since Don Onorato had 
really grown up a certain element of color and change 
had crept into the over-ascetic atmosphere of his 
mother’s surroundings. Her brother, the Cardinal, 
had done much to effect this, both openly, by repre- 
senting that the lad should find brightness and sym- 
pathy with his young tastes in his home, and also 
more subtly, by bringing fresh books, travels, essays, 
even good novels, always with the plea that they 
might amuse Onorato and keep him from wasting 
his time on inferior literature. As the Princess still 
felt it her duty to read anything she recommended 
to her son, the Cardinal’s contributions helped her 
to pass many pleasant hours and also to enlarge her 
views in many directions. When, according to her 
custom, she visited Onorato’s rooms to see that all 
was right there, she would carry off any suspicious- 
looking volume and leave something better in its 
place, and though Onorato was a grown man by this 
time, his awe of her prevented his ever protesting 
against these exchanges. As time went on he learned 
to put away the attractively scandalous French novels 
which were occasionally smuggled into the city in 
spite of the tyrannical censorship which examined 
every atom of print that was put into the post or 
set in circulation, ruthlessly burned all immoral works 


GIANNELLA 


75 


or indecent pictures, and aroused the anger of free- 
born foreigners by cutting out of the newspapers all 
scandalous or revolutionary items. Sad days of big- 
otry and darkness, when evil was stamped out as 
thoroughly as organization and power would permit 
— when any woman, from a foreign peeress to a 
dancer at the opera, was sent across the frontier the 
moment her behavior overstepped the bounds of pro- 
priety. If well-brought-up young men went wrong, 
they had at least to take some trouble to accomplish 
it. 


CHAPTER VII 


I T was ten o’clock in the morning and Giannella 
was waiting alone in the second anteroom for 
the advent of Signora Dati. Mariuccia, after also 
waiting a little, had left her, saying she would return 
in half-an-hour to fetch her; meanwhile there was 
work to do at home, and she was loth to waste any 
more time. At the end of a few months of her new 
life, waiting had become a familiar trial to Giannella. 
She often had to sit for a couple of hours in Signora 
Dati’s room while the Princess’s lieutenant interviewed 
the numberless clients and employees of the family, 
attended to the commands of the Excellency, inspected 
the mountains of linen in the guarda roba,” and 
kept an eye on the maids, all of whom were under 
her supervision and kept entirely apart, in employ- 
ment, housing, and feeding, from the men-servants, 
for whom Ferretti, the maestro di casa, was alone 
responsible. When Signora Dati knew that some 
time must elapse before she could speak to Giannella, 
the latter was brought at once to her room, there to 
occupy herself as best she might until her turn came. 
When the moment at last arrived the pale little lady 
would glide in, sink into a chair with a half-sup- 
pressed sigh of intense fatigue, and then throw her- 
self gallantly into the matter in hand with as much 
energy as if it had been the first task of her day. 
76 


GIANNELLA 


77 


Each question that came up was gone into thoroughly 
— whether the passion-flowers on the violet chasuble 
should be picked out with crystal or amethyst beads; 
whether the web of beauty which was to be the wed- 
ding handkerchief of Donna Laura Bracciano, the 
Princess’s niece, should have square or rounded 
corners; whether the coarse but ample layettes piled 
up in the left-hand cupboard, for the Foundling Hos- 
pital had better be counted over once again to make 
sure that each was complete? In all these handi- 
works Giannella was employed as best suited the 
needs of the moment, and nothing connected with 
them seemed too infinitesimal for Signora Dati’s pro- 
found consideration. Giannella, who took her instruc- 
tions day after day, conceived a deep admiration for 
the character of the dignified but self-effacing subor- 
dinate, who was often white to the lips with weari- 
ness but who never neglected one of the thousand 
minutiae of her overlapping responsibilities. 

On this particular morning a treat was in store for 
Giannella. After Mariuccia’s departure word had 
come that Signora Dati was obliged to go out and 
would take the “ ricamatrice ” (embroideress) with 
her. She would join her in the sala in a few minutes. 
After receiving the message Giannella sat tingling 
with pleasant excitement at the prospect before her 
and ready to jump up the moment Signora Dati 
should appear. The door opened suddenly and she 
ran forward with a smile of greeting, ran almost 
into the arms of a young man who seemed to be 

choking with laughter — Onorato, fresh from a long 
6 


78 


GIANNELLA 


maternal lecture on the sin and folly of owning too 
many expensive horses. He stopped half way and 
just saved Giannella, crimson and rooted to the spot 
with embarrassment, from impact with his singularly 
radiant waistcoat. She knew at once who he was; 
only the son of the house would venture to race 
through it in that fashion. But he, surprised for 
once out of his manners, stared at her, took in the 
charming face with its arrested smile, appraised the 
Etruscan gold of the hair under its light lace covering, 
found time to wonder who the girl was and why she 
had seemed so pleased and then so distressed at seeing 
him; then, with a word of apology, he passed out of 
the room, much more sedately than he had entered it. 
Giannella, conscious of having made an unpardonable 
mistake in thus thrusting herself into his path, sank 
back into her seat, pale and trembling. What would 
Signora Dati say? 

Signora Dati, coming upon the scene a moment 
later, and receiving Giannella’s almost tearful apology 
for her stupidity, smiled away her anxieties at once. 
The Prince would not be offended — oh dear no. He 
was most amiable and simple; it might have hap- 
pened to anybody; it was his fault, not Giannella’s. 
He always rushed about the house in a hurry, knock- 
ing things down sometimes as he dashed through the 
rooms. He was still such a boy ! Signora Dati 
smiled with the incorrigible indulgence of middle-aged 
spinsterhood for impetuous young masculinity. Yes, 
Giannella might set her mind at rest, the Prince would 
certainly have forgotten all about her before he was 


GIANNELLA 


79 


half way down the stairs. Had she brought the pat- 
terns with her? Here they were at Massoni’s, and 
now for the white velvet for Donna Laura’s wedding 
dress. Oh, Giannella would have to treat the ma- 
terial like melting sugar when she embroidered it. 
A breath, a speck of dust — and irretrievable ruin 
would follow. Yes, please Sora Luisa, her Excellency 
had selected the pattern, and now it must be seen in 
the piece, in a good light. 

The magnificent material was reverently unrolled 
and spread out in snowy, sumptuous billows in the 
sunshine. Signora Dati examined it with the gravity 
of the expert, and Giannella stood by, trying to find 
the answer to the first disquieting question that had 
ever presented itself to her mind. What mysterious 
ruling caused one girl to be born Donna Laura Brac- 
ciano, clothed her in robes beautiful enough for an 
angel, bestowed upon her at seventeen the dignity of 
espousing a young man as fortunate as herself, amid 
the rejoicings and congratulations of hundreds of 
friends — and decided that Giannella Brockmann, 
without a relation of her own in the world, was to 
be a dependent on charity, working in a lonely room 
for ten hours a day to pay charity’s account? There 
was no rebellion in her thoughts as she meditated 
on the problem, only wonder, and a strange new sense 
of bereavement — the unconscious hunger for some- 
thing young and sweet to love and laugh with, the 
reaching out of the plant in the shade to its comrades 
tossing their heads in the sun. 

The encounter with Don Onorato, the light-hearted 


8o 


GIANNELLA 


heir to accumulated honors and wealth, the catching 
mirth that seemed bubbling over in his laugh, in his 
bright face, had shaken her peace in some way, had, 
as it were, blown aside the gray veil which closed in 
her own existence, and shown her in a flash all that 
lay outside of it — for others. And now the pictured 
vision of the radiant bride on whose finery she must 
work till her back ached and her eyes smarted, had 
driven home the sense of privation like a sword. 
The keenest pain of it all lay in the fact that the few 
denizens of her tiny world took her fate as a settled 
question, a matter of course, and considered that she 
ought to be enthusiastically grateful for it. Ah, she 
was grateful, yes indeed, she appreciated all that had 
been done for her by kind human beings; but if they, 
on whom she had no claim, were so good and generous, 
could not the Giver of all good things have been a little 
open-handed too ? It all seemed strange and sad, and 
Divine love just a little less loving than she had been 
taught to believe. 

During the next two or three weeks Giannella had 
several glimpses of Onorato Santafede. Once she 
and Mariuccia met him on the great staircase; twice 
he burst into Signora Dati’s room when she was 
sitting there receiving instructions about the design 
of orange blossoms and roses to be embroidered in 
silver on the grand white velvet dress. Signora Dati 
smiled at the young gentleman, attended to his im- 
perious commands about some silk handkerchiefs 
which he declared had been vilely mishandled by the 
laundrymaids, and seemed totally unconscious that 


GIANNELLA 


8i 


the true object of his visit was to have another look 
at the young embroideress, who stood silently aside 
and never opened her lips during his laughing col- 
loquy with the domestic oracle of the household. No 
nascent romance had caught him in its web; Onorato 
was as free from romance as most young Romans 
of his class, which, whatever its failings, has rarely 
loved out of its sphere and in which a mesalliance is 
practically a thing unknown. But he frankly ad- 
mired beauty, and enjoyed looking at Giannella as he 
would have enjoyed contemplating a charming and 
rather strange picture. He had discovered that she 
was the official embroideress for the family, that she 
was often in the house, and he saw no reason for not 
taking advantage of the facts to pass a pleasant 
moment or two in her presence. The instant he en- 
tered the room, Giannella seemed relegated to Limbo 
by its mistress. She simply did not exist until 
Onorato had departed. And he was in the habit of 
lingering there sometimes, for it was the room to 
which he had been accustomed to come all his life, 
first with childish joys and sorrows, afterwards with 
his little fastidiousnesses about wardrobe and service; 
and often, since he was a kind-hearted young autocrat, 
to cheer up “ that victim of piety and recluse of 
duty,’^ as he called Signora Dati, with some bit of 
fun and mischief. 

But the perspicacious little lady, while smiling at 
his extravagances, noted that his eyes rested long on 
the golden head and half-averted face near the win- 
dow, and she decided that under no circumstances 


82 


GIANNELLA 


must he find Giannella there again. Who could tell 
what evil snare the devil (whose frantic machinations 
Signora Dati saw in every departure from the estab- 
lished order of things) might not weave around two 
young people who saw each other continually, even 
if no word passed between them? She would say 
nothing to the Princess, but in future Giannella should 
only come when she was sent for, and that would be 
when Onorato was safely out of the house. He prob- 
ably did not know that she lived just across the 
courtyard, for he was never up in time to see her go 
out with Mariuccia. All would be well, and the 
Excellency, who had so much on her noble mind, 
need never even hear of her faithful acolyte’s passing 
anxiety. 

And all would have been well had not Onorato, 
who took a profane delight in exploiting his solemn 
mother’s complete lack of humor, come in that even- 
ing to take his place at table with a long face and 
some heavy sighs. To the Princess’s anxious ques- 
tions he replied that he was not ill, but that a strange 
melancholy had come over him. He believed — 
mamma must keep his secret — he really believed he 
had fallen in love ! There ! 

Mamma gave a cry like a soul in pain, and then 
braced herself for the worst. Onorato had been 
singularly stubborn in the matter of taking a wife 
and to all his mother’s entreaties had replied that life 
was very pleasant now, that no one could say what 
marriage would make of it, and finally that when 
mamma found a woman as charming as herself to 


GIANNELLA 


83 

propose to him he would think about it — not till 
then. Thus placated, the Princess would hold her 
peace for a while, but Heaven was daily stormed 
with prayers for the ideal daughter-in-law. Con- 
sternation and hope divided her feelings at this 
sudden announcemenf. Unaided, unguided — was 
it yet possible that her son’s choice had fallen on some 
really desirable maiden? With clasped hands she en- 
treated him to speak, she could bear the suspense no 
longer. 

Then the young rascal, with much sham hesitation 
and contrition, confessed that his heart was gone 
from him forever — into the keeping of the exquis- 
itely beautiful creature who embroidered the family 
arms on the sheets and towels! The Princess sank 
back in her chair, white with the shock. This was 
the most dreadful thing that could have happened. 
“ My son,” she gasped, “ do you know what you are 
saying? But this is perfectly horrible. I cannot 
believe it.” 

I never meant you to, you dear, solemn, innocent 
mamma,” he cried, laughing as he jumped up and 
came to throw his arms round her neck and kiss her 
— he was very much of a child for all his twenty- 
eight years — “I was only joking. Don’t you under- 
stand? When I fall in love — oh then there really 
will be trouble, for I intend to devote my whole 
attention to the accomplishment. But now — no. 
There mamma mia cara, smile again. Your little em- 
broideress is as pretty as an angel, but I am not going 
to make a fool of myself by losing my heart to her. 


84 


GIANNELLA 


Come, let us find her a husband. Wouldnh you like 
to marry her to Ferretti? They say he is looking 
out for a second wife.” 

The Princess rallied her courage with a heroic ef- 
fort and pretended to believe him. Calling up a 
strained smile, she said, “ These are not proper sub- 
jects for joking, my son. Marriage is a sacrament, 
matrimony a holy state into which I trust you will enter 
with fitting dispositions when the time comes. You 
are quite old enough, you know I was thinking — ” 

“ For the love of Heaven,” cried Onorato, terrified 
in his turn, don’t ‘ think,’ I conjure you, don’t think. 
You promised not to speak again on that subject for 
at least six months. As for fitting dispositions, I 
have not the first symptom of the disease at present 
and cannot imagine where I shall find them when the 
fatal moment arrives. If Churchmen could dtive fast 
horses I assure you I could more easily catch the dis- 
temper called a vocation. Uncle Paolo was a wise 
man and he strikes me as a very happy one.” 

Your uncle had two elder brothers when he de- 
cided to enter the Church,” the Princess replied. ‘‘ It 
pleased God to remove them before either of them 
was married — a great misfortune. Pray speak of 
these subjects with proper respect, Onorato.” 

‘‘ I will respect everything — so long as it leaves 
me alone,” he said rather crossly. Really dear 
mamma made every word he spoke the occasion for 
a lecture. What would become of him if there were 
another woman in the house doing the same? He 
saluted her abruptly and went away to his own rooms. 


GIANNELLA 


85 


It was a long time before he caught sight of Gian- 
nella again. By eight o’clock the next morning a 
note was brought to her from Signora Dati, stating 
that there was much going on in the house at present, 
and that the Excellency had intimated that it would 
be more convenient for her to have the work sent 
across to the Professor’s apartment, where the writer 
would call in person on Tuesdays and Saturdays to 
inspect its progress. Giannella need not come to the 
piano nobile in future. 

So the last door was shut on her prison, doubtless, 
as she told herself, through some misdemeanor of her 
own. Tears welled up in her eyes. Life meant to 
be cruel. For the first time a little line marked itself 
between her brows and the fresh curves of her mouth 
closed in a straight line. Then she dried her eyes 
angrily and sat down to the embroidery frame where 
the silver orange blossoms on Donna Laura’s wed- 
ding dress were beginning to cover the material with 
regal splendor of bloom. 


CHAPTER VIII 


S AN SEVERING, as you pass under the portico 
of its front entrance, appears to be very much 
like other Roman churches, spacious, marble-floored, 
roofed with frescoed cupola and rounded arches; its 
wide nave is flanked with chapels, some unowned and 
bare; others, the vested property of great families, 
gorgeously or artistically decorated, marking to the 
experienced eye the precise date of each family’s 
apogee of power — pure pre-Raphaelite, Renaissance, 
Barocco, First Empire sham classic, Gregory the Six- 
teenth tawdry stucco and color. Even the latest 
abomination, however, is chastened into harmony by 
the merciful siftings of years, by the ever-lessening 
light which struggles through the darkened yellow of 
windows set too high in dome and walls to be med- 
dled with more than once or twice in a century. When 
the sun strikes them, long swathes of dusty gold shoot 
transversely down the unpeopled spaces of the church 
touching the mote-laden air to slow vibrations of 
light, calling back to a mockery of life some peri- 
wigged or pseudo-classic bust on a monument, or 
lingering on the lovely, flower-tinted lines of a Re- 
naissance tomb. It is Rome in the church as elsewhere, 
Rome, superbly indifferent to the quality of the spoils 
Time chooses to fling in her lap, because she has but 
to let them lie there awhile in the supernal alembic 
86 


GIANNELLA 


87 


of her glory-haunted air, to have them subdued, 
ripened, enriched, and finally incorporated into her 
own stricken yet transcendent beauty. 

Out of the last chapel to the right of the High 
Altar of San Severino a low swing door gives access 
to a darker, dimmer sanctuary, formerly a choir, as 
the blackened stalls and lecterns testify, but now used 
only once a month for the meeting of the Sodality 
of the Bona Mors. An unlit altar rises against one 
wall, supporting a painting always curtained from the 
dampness save when the doors are closed to the public 
and the members congregate for their exercises. Only 
a few can tell what the picture represents — whether 
Saint Joseph breathes his last sigh in the arms of 
God Incarnate, or the Penitent Thief writhes on his 
cross beside the King of the Jews. Morte certa, 
modo incerto,” the veiled shrine seems to whisper, 
and something cold and deathly in the air brings the 
first axiom at least shudderingly home to those who 
pass through. 

Beyond this chapel lies a small irregular chamber, 
its walls and pavement of marble so darkened with 
age that it is hard to decipher the inscriptions with 
which both are covered, brief Latin epitaphs record- 
ing the names of the dead who lie in the crypt below, 
good monks of an order which once prayed in the 
little chapel of the Bona Mors and has been super- 
seded and absorbed in the course of centuries, even 
as its modest temple has been absorbed and dominated 
by the great church of San Severino. 

A heavy leather curtain hangs over the outer door 


88 


GIANNELLA 


of the marble chamber of epitaphs, and is lifted for 
those who pass in and out by courteous mendicants 
of a more retiring disposition than those who guard 
the grand portico. A long, narrow courtyard, high 
walled but pleasantly open to the sky, and ornamented 
with a fountain made out of an acanthus capital, 
marks the final limits of the sacred premises, which 
run, from the Ripetta, parallel with the Santafede 
palace, through the entire block to the piazza of that 
name. The palace has its imposing front on the 
piazza, but the back door of San Severino leads into 
an obscure street opening out of the square. The 
street is narrow and crooked, shut in between the side 
walls of two or three ancient palaces, great houses 
of diminished splendors, whose owners do not dis- 
dain to let the ground floors of these purlieus as 
livery stables and small shops. Over one dark, mal- 
odorous doorway hangs a picture of a fearfully obese 
cow, sadly contemplating a yellow ochre field under 
a cracked blue sky, denoting that milk and butter 
are to be had within. From a cavernous den opposite, 
an avalanche of vegetables invades the sidewalk, 
crisp green lettuces, scarlet tomatoes, the magically 
fragrant fennel, pumpkins like globes of battered 
gold — the cornucopia of Ceres seems to be shaken 
out on the worn stones every morning. But Ceres 
has grown old; she sits, dark-browed, saturnine, 
wrinkled, on a low chair in the midst of her trophies, 
knitting stockings. Customers pause, select their pur- 
chases, hold up as many fingers as may represent 
the coppers they suppose them to be worth, and look 


GIANNELLA 


89 


inquiringly at Ceres. She bends a frowning glance 
on the questioner; if the guess be right, she nods her 
head; if mistaken, she corrects it by the same finger 
language; and the coppers drop into the basket where 
her ball of yarn dances at her feet. Few venture 
to bargain with Sora Rosa; she considers it waste of 
time. People pay and carry away the stuff; or they 
will not pay, and then somebody else will, for there 
is no other vegetable stall within ten minutes’ walk, 
and who is going to risk an apoplexy from over- 
exercise ? 

In the early morning, great ladies, quietly dressed, 
glide past Sora Rosa, avoid the horses which are 
being confidentially curried in the street, and disap- 
pear through the low doorway into the court of San 
Severino on their way to Mass. During the rest of 
the day the genial squalor of the Via Tresette is not 
disturbed by any jarring reminder of the prosperity 
and cleanliness of neighboring quarters. Near the 
ground at any rate all is dark, promiscuous, and pre- 
historic so far as modern ways are concerned. But 
the monastery building of San Severino rises up and 
up, a long, irregular pile, reaching the higher air and 
the sunshine at last, and breaking out into little ter- 
races and balconies, flowery and bird-haunted, where 
the Fathers whom Fra Tommaso served with such 
zeal took their rest after the labors of the day. Fra 
Tommaso’s own little loggia, the hanging garden 
which Giannella had begged to be taken to see so 
many years ago, was one of these, the least accessible 
from the larger apartments, but possessing for its 


90 


GIANNELLA 


owner the immense advantage of looking directly 
down into the Via Santafede and commanding a view 
of a section of the piazza at one end and of the 
Ripetta at the other; also of some fifty windows of 
the palace itself. The incorrigible amateur of the 
human drama, as he climbed from his forum, the 
church, to his villa, the loggia, always thanked 
Heaven for having cast his lines in pleasant places, 
and pitied his immediate opposite neighbors, Mariuc- 
cia and Giannella, for being exposed to the distracting 
temptations and vanities of the world and at the same 
time deprived of the delights of flower tending and 
pigeon feeding which he enjoyed on his terrace. 

The vanities of the world had only approached 
Giannella by proxy for a long time past. Since 
Onorato’s chance admiration and his untimely bit of 
farce had closed the doors of the piano nobile to her, 
life had become so narrow, so uniform, that she 
hardly recognized it for life at all. Three colorless 
years had slipped by; good Signori Dati was dead; 
the Princess, busy as ever, but in failing health, seemed 
to have forgotten her former protege’s very exist- 
ence. The brief churchgoing and shopping with 
Mariuccia, the needlework by which she still earned 
small sums from ladies who remembered her address, 
the assistance rendered in housework and in waiting 
on the Professor, who, after his first surprise at her 
presence, never seemed to know whether she or Mari- 
uccia brought him his meals — these made the round 
of Giannella’s days; and since she had, in obedience 
to the advice of her spiritual director, put rebellion 


GIANNELLA 


91 


down and accepted her fate by sheer effort of will, 
she lacked even the stimulus of conflict with her un- 
natural destiny. She had not lost either her health or 
her beauty in the strait abode of frowning circum- 
stance, but her buoyancy seemed gone ; her eyes were 
deep rather than bright, and no gallant resolve to smile 
on life could keep the corners of her pretty mouth 
from drooping pathetically out of the happy upward 
curves of her childhood. That period was so long 
past that it seemed to belong to life on another planet, 
one much nearer the sun than this earth ; but when, as 
in piety bound, she made one meditation a month on 
the joys of paradise, the angels, and the heavenly gar- 
dens and the celestial music, slid into the familiar sem- 
blance of her friends and play-fellows at Castel Gan- 
dolfo, the vineyards and the chestnut woods, the 
barking of the old dog — the braying of the donkey 
— Madonna Santissima, what abominable sacrilege 
were her thoughts committing ? Dogs and donkeys in 
heaven? Those red-cheeked, dusty-legged contadini 
children as angels of the Lord? Oh, what a wicked 
girl Giannella Brockmann must be — and what would 
Padre Anselmo say when she told him? 

She had fallen into this grievous sin for the twen- 
tieth time one winter afternoon. The light was fail- 
ing, and as she rose from her seat to put her work 
away, the door bell, grown terribly decrepit in its 
advanced age, jangled with an imperious querulous- 
ness which announced a stranger. The Professor al- 
ways handled it with tender care for fear of expense 
in repairs. Mariuccia, who seemed to have grown 
suddenly old, came out from the back room groaning 


92 


GIANNELLA 


with headache, for which she had applied her favorite 
remedy of tufts of “ madrecara ” stuffed up her nos- 
trils. The sight of her thus adorned was one of the 
few things which still made Giannella shake with 
laughter; the dear old face resembled a boar’s head 
in a butcher’s window at Christmas time. 

“ Go back to bed, Mariuccia,” said the girl, I will 
see who it is. The padrone is in his study. I had 
better ask him if he wishes to see any visitors.” 

She went quickly down the passage, pausing to put 
her head in at the study door. The Professor had 
grown older too, and bent more closely over his book 
than of yore. Not risking speech, Giannella looked a 
question as he raised his head; he nodded assent, 
and then the bell began its crazy dance again. Gian- 
nella hastily opened the front door and found herself 
face to face with a short, rather stout man, whose 
features she could not discern in the gloom, but who 
asked in an imperious tone whether the distintissimo 
Professor were at home. At the same time he handed 
her a card, from which she decided that this must 
be his first visit to the house. 

“ Favorisca,” she murmured, and the stout gentle- 
man followed her to Bianchi’s room. She saw the 
Professor rise and come forward with a puzzled air, 
and heard the visitor begin an apology for his intru- 
sion. Then she closed the door on them and went 
back to the kitchen, not sufficiently interested even to 
glance at the card, which she dropped on the little 
table beside the umbrella-stand in the passage. 

“ Is he never going, then, this cataplasm of a vis- 


GIANNELLA 


93 


itor ? '' exclaimed Mariuccia an hour later. ‘‘ The 
padrone’s supper is ready and spoiling. Take in the 
lamp, Giannella. They must be in the dark in there.” 

When Giannella entered the study, lamp in hand, 
she found that Bianchi had lighted a candle and was 
examining some papers, which he laid down quickly 
on seeing her. His sallow cheeks were flushed, and 
as he glanced up it struck the girl that his eyes looked 
unusually bright. 

Opposite to him, leaning back in an arm-chair, sat 
the visitor, whom the light revealed as a youngish 
man with narrow black eyes and a round countenance, 
evidently intended for smiles, but disciplined just now 
into a kind of judicial severity which could not alto- 
gether suppress the under element of amusement with 
which he was regarding his host. 

He too glanced quickly up at the girl who stood 
in the doorway the lamp she carried, illuminating her 
fair hair and grave young face. After a moment’s 
hesitation she advanced and set the lamp on the table 
between the two men. Bianchi dropped his hands 
over the papers and looked across to his guest. 

This is Giannella Brockmann, Signor’ Avvocato,” 
he said ; you perceive that she is alive and in good 
health.” 

The stranger rose to his feet and seemed about to 
speak, but the Professor raised a warning hand, and, 
turning to Giannella, dismissed her with a nod of the 
head. As she closed the door she heard him say hur- 
riedly, Later, later. Not at present — it is a 

nervous temperament.” 

7 


94 


GIANNELLA 


Her curiosity was aroused from its years of sleep, 
awakened as by the twang of a bowstring letting an 
invisible arrow fly past her. Was Bianchi referring to 
her? What was the communication which the other 
had wished to make and which he had arrested so 
peremptorily? She had scarcely had time to formu- 
late the queries in her mind when she heard murmurs 
of farewells, the sound of the front door closing, 
and the Professor’s footsteps returning to his study, 
where he locked himself in. It was all very un- 
usual. 

She did not see the padrone again that evening, for 
Mariuccia, still wearing her satyr-like adornment, 
took the tray from her hands and carried in his supper. 
The next day, however, Giannella was surprised by 
his pausing, as he met her in the passage, to return 
her dutiful ‘‘ good-morning,” a mark of interest which 
he had never shown before. A little later he actually 
called her by name and showed her a row of books 
on a lower shelf, which, he said, required dusting. 
Mariuccia seemed unwell, and she had much to do; 
would Giannella undertake to dust the books regu- 
larly? He would be much obliged. 

When she informed Mariuccia of this order the old 
woman laughed sardonically. “ It has taken him a 
great many years to find out that I have much to do,” 
she sneered, and I have waited on him when I was 
so shaking with fever that the plates rattled in my 
hands — and he never noticed that I was ill. Cipic- 
chia! That visitor must have been an angel in dis- 
guise, to have thus opened the padrone’s heart to poor 


GIANNELLA 


95 

you and me, Giannella. Let us hope that he will soon 
come again.” 

He did come again, two or three times in the course 
of the next fortnight, and with each visit the Pro- 
fessor’s kind notice of Giannella increased, until she 
began to have an uncomfortable feeling in his hith- 
erto impersonal presence. As she came and went, his 
eyes followed her with a growing lambency behind the 
big spectacles. She was called into his room on 
frivolous pretexts, and one day he asked her if she 
could kindly cook his supper. Mariuccia had brought 
in some polpetti, and he had remarked that Giannella 
cooked polpetti divinely. 

Mariuccia’s sharp eyes had marked the padrone’s 
new attitude and she was much disquieted. Was it 
possible that at fifty-seven he was committing the folly 
of falling in love? And that, suddenly and unrea- 
sonably, with the girl who had waited on him for 
years past without winning so much as a word or a 
glance of recognition from him? If so, it was noth- 
ing but bewitchment, dark bewitchment. The lawyer 
who came to see him now must be quite the opposite 
of an angel, since the spell dated from his first visit 
The spell had evidently been cast by him. 

Well, she would counteract it if she could. Gian- 
nella should not go near that fatal sitting-room and 
its occupant if she could help it. Giannella seconded 
the precautionary measures with all her might. She 
was thankful to be spared the attentions which were 
becoming too obvious to be ignored. Resolutely she 
stayed at the other end of the house, but Bianchi 


96 


GIANNELLA 


took to wandering over there after her. She pondered 
on the possibility of paying for a place in the vettura 
and taking refuge with the old friends at Castel Gan- 
dolfo; but money was painfully scarce; she and 
Mariuccia now depended entirely on the latter’s wages 
and on the fifteen baiocchi a day which her generous 
master had so unwillingly granted when she first 
came to live with him twenty years before. No, a 
journey was out of the question; the prison doors 
could not be pushed ajar. 

The door was opening even now, but Giannella had 
no premonition of it. Having attained the sober age 
of twenty without possessing a single young acquaint- 
ance in Rome (for none of her former schoolfellows 
lived in that remote quarter), she was allowed by 
Mariuccia, when the old joints felt stiff, to go out 
alone sometimes for Mass and marketing. Mariuc- 
cia’s dreams of a bright future for her foster-child 
were fading sadly away at last; Giannella would be 
considered an old maid in another year or two, and 
the good young man with fifty thousand scudi had 
never come. Instead, by an ugly “ scherzo ” of fate. 
Carlo Bianchi, the shrunken recluse who had never 
looked at anything more closely resembling a woman 
than some statue thousands of years old, dead and cold 
as the creature deserved to be for having been perpet- 
uated in such indecent nudity. Carlo Bianchi was wak- 
ing up to the fact that a beautiful young woman was 
a member of his household; and, unless Mariuccia’s 
own shrewdness was at fault, he would soon propose 
to install her as its mistress. 


GIANNELLA 


97 


With all his failings, his domestic tyrant could not 
credit him with baser intentions, but this was bad 
enough. If he should succeed — Mariuccia groaned 
aloud at the possibility — the rest of Giannella’s life 
would be ‘‘ in Galera,’' that of a slave at the galleys. 
Let the poor child get out into the air and sunshine, 
exchange a word with Fra Tommaso, with stout, 
smiling S,ora Amalia, who lived under the sign of the 
cow, even with cross old Sora Rosa, who had so far 
unbent to la Biondina ’’ as to make her a present 
of figs or cherries once or twice. It was hard, after 
all the struggles to keep Giannella a lady, that she 
should be reduced to friends like these, that not a 
person of her own class should ever remember or 
notice her. But there, it was destiny ! ‘‘ Run along, 

Giannella, and see if ricotta is cheap to-day. The 
padrone would like some for his breakfast.” 

So Giannella came and went a little more freely, and 
she did not attract the attention which the good nuns 
had dreaded for that dangerous golden hair when 
they let their dove fly from the convent ark four 
years before. Everyone in the vicinity knew her by 
sight, and it was a vicinity whose staid inhabitants 
rarely changed. The world, the flesh, and the devil, 
might go roaring up and down the Corso a few blocks 
away, but within sound of the bells of San Severino 
all was calm, ancient, safe. Mariuccia’s Biondina, 
as she was called, could come and go, in her dark 
dress, with the bit of black lace veiling her modest 
head, and no curious or disrespectful glance would 
follow her. She could escape from the house and ven- 


98 


GIANNELLA 


ture on a little walk by the river, past the palace 
where kind Cardinal Cestaldini was basking in a rare- 
fied atmosphere of contemplation, good works, and 
learning, could pass the time of day with Fra Tom- 
maso and the incurables, and linger among the monu- 
ments and frescoes of the church or try to decipher 
the inscriptions in the funereal gallery beyond the 
chapel of the Bona Mors, all without embarrassment 
or molestation. And as was natural, the small, new 
liberty was sweet and reviving to her repressed youth. 
She saw no tragedy in it, as did Mariuccia, to whom 
the acknowledgment of Giannella’s passing youth and 
apparently irrevocable spinsterhood was a bitter trial. 
She was not sure now that in choosing the single 
state for herself she had not made a big mistake; but 
then she had chosen it for herself, and that was quite 
a different thing. 

The winter had softened into spring and the spring 
warmed to summer, when Mariuccia’s enemy, the mys- 
terious avvocato, made his last visit to the Professor. 
He carried an imposing sheaf of papers in his hand 
and was accompanied by an older man who looked 
like a notary, for he wore even bigger spectacles than 
the padrone’s and his right forefinger was dyed dark 
with ink. A few minutes after the two had been 
admitted, Giannella was summoned to the study. Some 
very direct questions were put to her by the lawyer, 
as to her name, age, and recollections of childhood, 
questions which surprised her greatly, for she could 
not imagine why these details should interest stran- 
gers. Then a paper was laid before her which she 


GIANNELLA 


99 


was requested to sign. She drew back, a chill fear 
coming over her that it might be a marriage contract 
— that she was being entrapped into a union with 
Bianchi, who stood beside her, breathing hard with 
suppressed excitement and considerately holding a 
sand castor over the page, ready to dry the writing at 
once. As she hesitated, he touched her arm with 
his free hand, and the touch spelled compelling will. 
She was conscious that the other two men were staring 
at her in bewilderment, and she obeyed — as she had 
obeyed authority, in one form or another, all her life, 
and signed her name. 

Bianchi instantly took possession of the sheet and 
handed it to the lawyer, who wrote on it in his turn. 
Then, as Bianchi signified to Giannella that she might 
retire, the lawyer came round to her side of the table, 
shook hands with her, congratulated her on her good 
fortune, and, with quite a friendly ring in his voice, 
begged her to consider his services at her disposal in 
the future. She thanked him, inwardly wondering at 
his optimism. The only good fortune apparent in her 
circumstances was the one of having found a shelter 
and a home — to which she had less future claim than 
the swallows to their nests in the palace eaves. 

Emerging from the study she found Mariuccia hov- 
ering near the door, wild with curiosity and suspicion. 
Giannella described what had taken place, and as soon 
as the visitors had departed Mariuccia stormed into 
the study and assailed the Professor with angry ques- 
tions as to what the child had been made to sign. 
What was this indecent secrecy? What had anyone 


lOO 


GIANNELLA 


to say to Giannella that she, who had brought her up, 
might not hear? Was that abominable paper a mar- 
riage contract ? She would tear it up and light the fire 
with it. Did he figure to himself that Giannella was 
to be disposed of without Mariuccia Botti’s consent? 

Bianchi, who seemed calm and triumphant now, 
locked the drawer of his secretary and put the key 
in his pocket before deigning to reply to her tirade; 
indeed its fluency and fury left no opening for reply 
until she paused for want of breath, her eyes like 
coals, her grizzled locks shaking above her brow like 
angry snakes. The master had never seen her in a 
passion before, and he shrank back instinctively. 
Then, as she was opening her lips to speak again, he 
said quickly and with some dignity, Calm yourself, 
Mariuccia. One does not speak to one’s padrone in 
that manner. The paper which Giannella signed was 
just a legal one, connected with . . . business of 

mine. You cannot write — it would have been useless 
to call you in. You perceive that you have made a 
foolish mistake? Oh, I forgive you. You have had 
no instruction, and you women of the people are ever 
illogical and suspicious. As to marriage . . 

listen to me, and do not transport yourself with anger 
— it sours the blood and might bring on an apoplexy 
which I have so greatly feared for you, overloading 
yourself with food as you do. Fifteen baiocchi a day 
for one woman. Holy ^sculapius, how have you 
survived it for twenty years?” 

“ Man without eyes, without vitals,” cried Mariuc- 
cia, “ what do you suppose Giannella has lived on since 


GIANNELLA 


lOI 


she came back from the convent? Air? Trevi water? 
Have I not fed the poor child for years? Have you 
ever given her a crumb from your table, a sugar-plum 
at Epiphany, or a maritozzo in Lent? Domine Dio, 
keep Thy Hand on my head or I shall end by losing 
patience with this blind and heartless one.” 

The Professor was roused to reprisals at last. “ Do 
not imagine that I am blind, O female without judg- 
ment ! ” he exclaimed. Gladly would I have made 
presents of food to Giannella, though I am a poor man 
and could ill afford it — but I perceived that your 
charity to her might be the means of saving your life, 
preventing you from dying of surfeit — a most painful 
end. Thus has your good deed already had its re- 
ward. But to show you, O ignorant and audacious 
one, that I have a true affection for Giannella and a 
mind full of generosity I will now — ” He choked, 
then went on manfully, ‘‘ I will now give you five 
baiocchi a day for her board, out of my own pocket. 
It is imprudent — I shall suffer — but I am resolved. 
Behold.” And he held out five dingy coppers in his 
half-closed hand. , 

Then he found out what Mariuccia meant when she 
spoke of losing patience. She came up to him in 
two strides and shook both hands in his face. 
“ What ? ” she screamed, you want to pay for Gian- 
nella now? Why have you never thought of it be- 
fore? Four years last Easter she came home, and 
never once have you said, ‘ Mariuccia mia, there is a 
paul, to buy something for the girl — what do I know, 
a cake, a bit of ribbon? ’ No, she grew up, she has 


102 


GIANNELLA 


waited on you and ironed for you and mended your 
old rags of shirts that only hold together by the grace 
of God. She has combated with the butcher and the 
baker and the fishmonger till they had to take some- 
thing off their prices for you — they fear to see her 
coming, though she is as beautiful as an angel — and 
you never even spoke to her till a few weeks ago. 
But now — the devil in hell alone knows why — you 
have suddenly found out that she is good and pretty, 
and you make big eyes at her and call her to dust 
your wicked old books — and now you have the te- 
merity to offer me money for her! No indeed, Pro- 
fessore mio, this you shall never do. Go back to your 
Veneres and Giunones — I wonder the Holy Father 
did not send the shameless females to the galleys for 
having their portraits taken like that — and leave 
Giannella to me.” 

Bianchi had not listened to this tide of reproaches, 
accompanied as it was by violently menacing gestures, 
without taking immediate measures for self-preserva- 
tion. He edged round the room, keeping his back to 
the wall and facing Mariuccia, who followed him step 
by step, never allowing the distance between them to 
diminish by a handbreadth, until the door was reached. 
Carefully the Professor put out one hand behind him 
and ascertained that it was ajar. Then with amazing 
agility he stepped back into the passage, and from 
there hurled his last bomb. ‘‘ You spoke of marriage. 
Yes, woman of hard head and mountainous ignorance, 
I intend to marry Giannella.” Then the door was 


GIANNELLA 


103 

slammed in Mariuccia’s face and the next moment the 
padrone was flying down the stairs. 

His enemy, haggard, and trembling from reaction, 
remained in possession of the fleld, but she knew that 
she was vanquished. When Giannella heard the front 
door close she ran to the study, whence sounds of bat- 
tle had rolled for the last half-hour. She found her 
old friend with her head sunk forward on the table 
while slow tears trickled through her knotty fingers 
all over the padrone’s papers. The master had evi- 
dently been put to flight, but Mariuccia’s victory 
seemed to have been a costly one. She refused to con- 
fide to Giannella the subject of her ‘‘ piccolo argo- 
mento,” as she called it, with Bianchi. The long 
habit of silence gave her strength to keep her counsel 
about his alarming proposal. Taken together with his 
changed attitude towards the girl, it could, in her judg- 
ment, point to but one thing, “ passione,” the fatal, 
sudden, all-devouring passion in which the Roman be- 
lieves as blindly as did the Greek tragedian. This 
poisoned arrow had entered the padrone’s heart. 
Mamma mia, here was a complication over which to 
astrologize her poor head ! Who was going to sustain 
the combat, day in day out, under that narrow roof, 
with an obstinate man who was undoubtedly being 
smitten in his dried-up middle age with just retribu- 
tion for the unnatural repressions of his youth, and 
who, moreover, held all the advantages of the situa- 
tion, since he was the master of the house? She did 
not abandon her belief in the spell which she accused 


104 


GIANNELLA 


the strange lawyer of weaving around the poor man; 
no, that was a part of the doom; he was Satan’s 
emissary, permitted, for some inexplicable reason, to 
sow the seed which had taken such violent possession 
of the unfortunate Professor. He had disappeared 
when his evil work was done and it could probably 
not be undone by anyone else. It was all destiny — 
but most afflicting. 

As for telling Giannella — no. Love was not a 
proper subject to discuss with young girls, and then, 
such love as this? So she informed Giannella that 
she had been asked to sign the mysterious paper as a 
witness to something or other that had no connection 
with her, and that the slight disagreement had arisen 
from Bianchi’s irritation at being questioned. Why 
had she been crying? Oh, she was feeling strana ” 
that day — it was all the fault of the scirocco. 

The Professor returned towards evening, very 
haughty and dignified. Mariuccio contradicted all her 
explanations of the morning by forbidding Giannella 
to go near him, and carried in his supper tray herself, 
in grim silence more aggressive than words, even those 
of her rich vocabulary. She was only waiting for the 
rattle of a plate or the turning of a door handle to 
put an end to the armistice and serve as a declaration 
of renewed hostilities, but Bianchi was deaf and dumb. 
He informed her, when she came in to remove his 
tray, that he would be going to Ostia the next day; 
his coffee must be ready and his clothes brushed by 
seven o’clock. Then he returned to the perusal of a 


GIANNELLA 


105 


letter, and Mariuccia, greatly relieved at the prospect 
of his absence for so many hours, prayed for the in- 
tervention of protecting Providence in Giannella’s af- 
fairs before his return — and sat up till late, brushing 
his clothes and preparing the frugal lunch which he 
always carried with him on such archaeological ex- 
peditions. 


CHAPTER IX 


T he morning after these disturbing events an 
exciting stir delighted the inhabitants of the 
Via Tresette, the street of the cow. The owner of 
the dairy had in the course of years become the pro- 
prietor of the old house which sheltered his trade; 
and, having prospered of late, he had built on the roof 
a new apartment, containing four small rooms and a 
large airy studio, which he hoped to let to some 
painter. His neighbors had shaken their heads over 
this bold speculation, but it seemed that his optimism 
was justified, for here, at the small door beside the 
shop, stood a handcart loaded with stiff-legged easels, 
canvases tied together in a red tablecloth, a chair sim- 
ilarly protected by a green one, the disjointed limbs 
of an iron bedstead, cooking utensils, and various odds 
and ends, all of which proved incontestably that a ten- 
ant had been found for the appartamentino on the 
roof. 

Beside the cart, helping the perspiring facchino to 
unload the things, stood a young man of cheerful coun- 
tenance and remarkably dapper costume. Adjuring 
the porter to move delicately, he unearthed a life-sized 
mummy-like object swathed in a drab sheet, which he 
hoisted tenderly on the man’s back. Then, turning to 
the landlord, who stood by, beaming on this visible 
proof of his own good luck, he begged him, in lan- 
io6 


GIANNELLA 


107 


guage more elegant than usually echoed through that 
obscure thoroughfare, to favor him by keeping an eye 
on the other belongings while he accompanied the 
bearer of this particular treasure up the stairs. 

No sooner had he disappeared than an excited group 
gathered round the owner of the premises to find out 
all about him. What was his name? Had he really 
taken the new room? What rent was he going to 
pay ? Even Sora Rosa, the sybil among the cabbages 
opposite, raised her head and cocked an ear to catch 
the answer. 

Why yes, the gentleman had taken the studio apart- 
ment for three years, paying half-a-year’s rent in ad- 
vance. (The landlord in the just pride of his heart 
mentioned precisely double the sum he had asked and 
received.) The signorino’s name was Goffi, Rinaldo 
Goffi, and he was an artist — but distintissimo. Sig- 
nor Freschi, the picture dealer in Via Condotti, bought 
everything he painted, and for sums ! 

At this juncture the distinguished artist came out 
from the doorway and, quite unembarrassed by his 
growing audience, gathered up more of his properties 
— a paint box under each arm, a saucepan in one hand 
and a wicker cage tied up in a yellow handkerchief in 
the other, and, thus loaded, ducked back into the Cim- 
merian darkness of the passage. The handcart was 
now empty, the porter paid, with a joke and a “ bic- 
chiere ” thrown in, and Signor Goffi, rather out of 
breath, ascended the four flights of stairs and took 
possession of his new domain. 

He was a Roman of the Romans, although not born 


io8 


GIANNELLA 


within the walls of the city. His father, a lawyer of 
good old provincial stock, had risen to be mayor of his 
native town, Orbetello, and, being also the owner of 
rich vine lands, was a man of solid position and com- 
fortable fortune. His eldest son was following in 
his father’s steps, and would inherit the fat Orbetello 
property; the second was a rising engineer; and the 
third, Rinaldo, having early shown quick intelligence 
and some artistic talent, had been sent to Rome for his 
education, with the understanding that if he satisfac- 
torily completed his studies at the university he should 
be permitted to devote himself to the career of his 
choice in the very cradle of Art itself. 

The parental allowance, a very modest one, was to 
be continued until he could earn his own living; but 
having inherited from a maternal relative a tiny prop- 
erty near Rome, he, as in duty bound, renounced the 
allowance in order that his sisters’ doweries might be 
increased, and lived as Romans so well know how to 
live, decorously and comfortably, on a very small in- 
come. The vigna ” outside Porta San Giovanni was 
cultivated by peasants, whose family had tenanted it 
for some generations, on the mezzadria system, an 
equal division of profits with the owner. As hardly 
any taxes were levied in the Papal States, and no 
duty assessed on provisions passing the city gates, the 
full value of ownership and labor was reaped from the 
land, and the half-and-half arrangement, while equally 
distributing the losses of lean years, insured to both 
landlord and tenant the entire benefit of fat ones. 

The lean years had been few in the garden vineyard 


GIANNELLA 


109 


outside the Lateran Gate; the vines flowered into 
heady fragrance in the divine Roman spring behind 
their tall hedges of canes and roses, and bore their 
splendid bunches nobly when the late summer rains 
came to swell, nearly to bursting, the tightly clustered 
fruit baked black on the brown stems whence every 
leaf had been stripped in August to let the sun and air 
do their magic work. Then came the crown of the 
year, the October vintage, when every little winepress 
poured its purple froth from under the bare feet of 
the treaders into the seething vat below ; when the very 
air was wine, from Lombardy to Messina, and each 
Sunday of the glowing month brought the population 
of the city, in gay attire, out to eat and drink, to 
laugh and dance and make music, from dawn to dark, 
in the garden of the gods, the vinelands of Romagna. 

Rinaldo went with the rest, inviting a chosen party 
of fellow-students to the vigna, where the padroncino 
was always delightedly welcomed and the best the 
house could afford brought out for him and his 
friends. The meal was served in the open air, by the 
fountain, under the brown thatch woven in between 
the branches of the four cypress-trees as a shelter 
from the sun; old songs and young laughter accom- 
panied the repast; the new wine, cloudy and sweet 
still and of terrific headiness, was tasted, and healths 
drunk in the safer product of past years. Then a 
game of bowls was played, a substantial present made 
to the vignarolo,'’ and, in the cool of the evening, 
the ‘‘ raggazzi ” climbed, six at a time, into the small 
open carriage hired for the occasion, and were borne 


no 


GIANNELLA 


back to the town. The jolly driver, who had had his 
share of the day’s good things, cracked his beribboned 
whip high over the heads of the little black horses, 
who, with roses on their ears and bows on their tails, 
frisked gaily along in a cloud of dust, running races 
with dozens of other vehicles full of noisy, happy 
people twanging guitars and shaking tamborines, very 
few of them at all the worse for the innocent orgy. 
At last came the scamper for the Lateran Gate before 
Ave Maria rang and it should be closed for the night, 
and the usually severe guardians only smiled at the 
merry scramble and closed the huge portals, regretfully 
when the last carrozzella had romped safely through. 

Such holidays were the more enjoyed by Rinaldo 
because they were rare. In general he led a life as or- 
derly and studious as that of Carlo Bianchi himself ; 
but it was illuminated with hope for the future, with 
pleasure in the present in spite of the slow labor neces- 
sary, in spite of the many discouragements to be lived 
down before he could attain even modest proficiency in 
his kindly art. His chief relaxation in the summer 
time was provided by Father Tiber. The “ Cannot- 
tieri ” club had not been organized in those early days, 
but its forerunner, a river boating society, drew the 
young men together in the warm afternoons and gave 
them many a cool swim and invigorating hour of row- 
ing on the full yellow tide. Rinaldo was a favorite with 
his compeers, but he never allowed their importunities 
to interfere with the great business of his life, success 
in his reasonable aims. He had gone through every 
step of the art student’s course with sturdy conscien- 


GIANNELLA 


III 


tiousness, trusting nothing to inspiration, avoiding 
what he recognized as impressionism (the word itself 
had not been coined) as he avoided bad women and 
sour wine. He never imagined himself a genius; he 
was content to have talent and to cultivate it faith- 
fully. Month after month he copied in the galleries, 
reverently tracing the perceptive lines of great mas- 
terpieces on his canvas and his memory. Constant 
work in the Life School filled the evening hours when 
the days were short, and humble acceptance of the 
master’s sharp criticisms corrected any slightest ten- 
dency to conceit. With native shrewdness he had 
understood that there was always a market for good, 
unostentatious work, and he was not too proud to 
take commissions for copies when he could not sell 
his own really charming little pictures. For Rinaldo 
had an end in view, and he worked steadily towards it. 
Loneliness did not appeal to his cheerful nature; he 
meant to find a pretty, sweet-tempered wife as soon as 
he could support her, and to have a home as strongly 
foundationed as the one in Orbetello, of which he re- 
tained admiring and affectionate memories. 

Having no fortune beyond the small income derived 
from the vigna, he could not expect to marry a girl 
with much of a dowry; in such matters a certain sim- 
ilarity of circumstances was the accepted rule. So he 
put by all that it was possible for him to save, resolved 
to marry while young and in love with life, and equally 
resolved to feel no pinch of poverty afterwards. His 
attitude was one not at all uncommon among his fel- 
low-students and contemporaries; nothing could have 


1 12 


GIANNELLA 


been further from the happy-go-lucky Bohemianism 
of the foreign artistic coteries, Scandinavian, German, 
Anglo-Saxon, which swarmed in Rome at that time. 
There is but one calling which makes Bohemians of 
the sober-going yet light-hearted children of Latium, 
the musical one. What would you have? When a 
man is born with a voice that can sing the stars down 
from heaven and the angels from paradise, is it not to 
be expected that he should also be born drunk with 
celestial wine? When he can compose operas whose 
airs, after the first hearing, are sung in every alley 
of the city — as happened the morning after the pro- 
duction of the Trovatore — no one can demand that 
he should understand the intricacies of account-books. 
It is the world’s business to see to the daily wants of 
its Orpheuses and Apollos — and the world, as a rule, 
attends to the obligation nobly. 

When Rinaldo took possession of his new studio he 
felt that he was marking an important point on the 
road of his ambitions. Hitherto he had shared the 
workshop of a friend, in the warren of studios which 
climb from the Via Babuino to the lower terraces of 
the Pincian Hill. Now, having sold some small pic- 
tures, and having secured through the dealer an order 
from a rich foreigner for a large one, he felt justi- 
fied in assuming the responsibilities of quiet, airy quar- 
ters where he could work without interruptions. As 
he sat among his queer belongings — scattered over 
the floor in wild disorder — an unreasoning joy took 
possession of him, a certainty that he had found more 
in this new home than clean, bright rooms and a su- 


GIANNELLA 


113 

perb north light. He rose and walked about, explor- 
ing his new domain, and lingering on the little terrace 
to breathe in the breeze which, rioting over from the 
coast, twenty miles away, seemed to disdain ever to 
sink into the hot streets so far below. 

His attention was called to material things by the 
protests of the inhabitant of the wicker cage, still 
wrapped in the yellow handkerchief. He took it up 
gently and in a moment liberated a splendid gray and 
purple pigeon, which hopped on his shoulder and began 
to preen its ruffled feathers with a deeply injured air. 
“ My poor Themistocles,’' Rinaldo apologized, “ I had 
rorgotten all about you. And your grain is spilt and 
your cup is empty.” Gravely he attended to the 
creature’s wants, while it fluttered about, taking in all 
the possibilities of the place. Themistocles was ac- 
cused by Rmaldo’s friends of being a most uncanny 
bird, watching their actions with a sarcastic eye and 
understanding many things which did not come within 
his province at all. Though he was allowed to roam 
at will over the housetops he always returned to his 
master in the evening and generally slept on the head 
of the lay figure, the carefully swathed treasure which 
had so excited the curiosity of the denizens of the 
street of the cow. 

Rinaldo had become so accustomed to this quaint 
feathered companion that he would have felt lonely 
without him; indeed Themistocles had been the re- 
cipient of many a confidence and ambition which his 
master would have betrayed to no articulate listener. 
One must talk to something about the things nearest 


GIANNELLA 


1 14 

one’s heart, and it was fine to have a confidant who 
never objected or contradicted. 

In an hour the properties were all in place. The 
little platform was set in the best light, and the an- 
cient chair, topped with gilt cherubs and covered with 
ragged crimson velvet, was placed on it at the usual 
angle. How many cardinals, fair ladies, and swagger- 
ing bravos had sat in that chair during the last few 
years! Of each and all the corporeal body was sup- 
plied by the trusty lay figure, which, now liberated 
from its cerecloth, disclosed the amputation of one 
leg below the knee, the dislocation of the other, in- 
curable paralysis of the fingers; a pink but blistered 
countenance, a nose injured by contact with a mahl- 
stick hurled at it by Rinaldo’s former studio com- 
panion; vacuous blue eyes and a set smile completed 
the model’s attractions, and these were crowned by a 
damaged wig of a sickly yellow hue, much impover- 
ished by the attentions of Themistocles, who was in 
the habit of tearing out locks of hair when playing at 
building a nest in the angle of the least-used easel. In 
a few minutes, however, the warworn veteran of the 
studio was sitting in the gilt chair, cleverly robed in 
the red tablecloth and impersonating a cardinal in full 
canonicals; a large canvas was brought out, the dear, 
bedaubed paint boxes opened, the favorite palette 
loaded with its daily rainbow of colors — and behold 
Rinaldo, forgetful of everything else, utterly happy, 
absorbed in his immortal work for the rich foreigner. 

That evening he sat and smoked on his loggia, lifted 
far above the nightmare of fever which stalks in the 


GIANNELLA 


1 15 

lowlying streets on summer nights. He felt that he 
had come into a new world, where stars and sky were a 
part of the bargain. Going over to the balustrade he 
leaned out and looked down into the street — a chasm 
of blackness at that hour — then up at the violet dome 
of the heavens quivering with a thousand points of 
tender radiance, and, remembering his schooldays, 
softly quoted, Donde uscimmo a riveder le stelle ! ” 

He too had left his purgatory behind and had en- 
tered a paradise all-sufficing to his simple soul, save 
for one thing, it contained no Beatrice. He did not 
call her that, however. Dante’s impersonal goddess 
would never have filled the vacant throne in Rinaldo’s 
heart. The unattainable had no charms for him, and 
the idea of worshiping another man’s wife at a re- 
spectful distance seemed both a mortal sin and a waste 
of time; he meant to fall joyfully in love with his own 
wife; and, being a sincere beauty worshiper, permit- 
ted himself to paint an enchanting picture of the fu- 
ture Signora Goffi. For hard-working, economical 
Rinaldo, with all his respect for conventionalities and 
his sound Roman sense, was at heart an exuberant 
idealist and had never considered it necessary to even 
clip the plumes of his radiant imagination. He had 
not yet beheld, but he was sure he should find, the 
face of holy fairness, the eyes of innocence and love, 
the golden hair that was to be crown and halo in one 
— the dear, pretty sister of angels and pattern of 
housekeepers whom he resolutely intended to marry. 

He fell asleep wondering what Find of paper she 
would ask him to put on these whitewashed walls, 


GIANNELLA 


ii6 

and woke — as it seemed to him, immediately after- 
wards — with a violent start, to find the air full of 
the pealing of bells, the bells of San Severino, which 
Fra Tommaso was ringing with all his might for the 
first Mass. 

He jumped up and ran out on the terrace, pleased 
as a schoolboy, to see what everything looked like at 
this early hour. Glancing over the iron balustrade, he 
discovered that it lay at a right angle to the street and 
looked directly into the back court of San Severino. 
The connection with the church was evident, for there 
was a mendicant lifting the leather curtain for a 
lady to pass in. The first ray of the sun shot over the 
farther wall and lit on a golden head just disappearing 
under the curtain ; the beggar made an aggrieved ges- 
ture and stretched out his hand for alms. Then the 
lady stepped back into the sunshine and stood for 
a moment seeking for something in her purse. Yes, 
the head was golden — Rinaldo’s heart leaped for joy 
— and the fingers that dropped a copper in the out- 
stretched hand were white and fine. Then the cur- 
tain was lifted once more, the lady disappeared, and 
the court was empty save for the beggar, who at once 
assumed his professionally forlorn air so as to be ready 
for the next passer-by. 

“ I too will go to Mass,^’ said Rinaldo to himself, 

it is a pious habit.” Having dressed as fast as he 
could, he flew downstairs and made his way into the 
church, quiet and dim still, and holding only a few 
scattered worshipers. Mass had begun in a side 
chapel, and, kneeling on a priedieu before the altar 


GIANNELLA 


117 

steps was a girl, simply dressed in black, her face 
hidden in her hands. A smooth roll of hair like spun 
gold showed under a lace head covering; the figure 
was young and slight, and the pose perfectly graceful. 

Rinaldo turned red with emotion. Might not — 
oh, Santa Speranza — might not this be the embodi- 
ment of his dreams? He actually trembled with ap- 
prehension lest the unseen face should fall short of 
what he asked to find in it ; yet how could it, he asked 
himself, do less than match the harmony of the de- 
vout attitude, the fairness of the fingers through which 
the beads of a white rosary slipped one by one? 

He drew nearer and leaned against the wall, where 
he could see her profile whenever she should raise her 
head. He crossed himself, took out his handkerchief 
and knelt down on it at the proper moments, and tried 
to remember his prayers, but these did not get much 
further than the attractive apparition before him and 
resolved themselves into wordless but frightened en- 
treaties that the vision would show its face. The Mass 
was approaching its end when he was aware of a little 
stir among the chairs ; then an old woman with a scan- 
ty handkerchief thrown over her head and its corners 
tightly held in her mouth, came and knelt down be- 
tween him and the girl. The latter moved her head 
slightly in acknowledgment of her neighbor’s presence, 
but continued her devotions without looking up. 

What is she praying for so earnestly ? ” Rinaldo 
wondered. Could Heaven refuse anything to such a 
santarella as that? Oh, what a shame to disturb her.” 

This was evidently not the old woman’s view. She 


ii8 


GIANNELLA 


had something to say and meant to get it off her mind 
at once. She pulled at the girl’s sleeve and whispered 
sharply, Giannella, listen. I must go to the cleaner 
for the padrone’s coat — he is off to Ostia for the day, 
thank the Lord — so you take the key and go home, 
and here is the money for the tomatoes, don’t for- 
get.” 

She fished a heavy housekey and some jingling cop- 
pers from her bulging pocket and tried to thrust them 
into the girl’s hand. The latter raised her head and 
looked round slowly, as if coming back to things of 
earth against her will. And then Rinaldo leaned 
heavily against the cold wall and felt dizzy and faint. 
What he beheld was only a pure young face with 
shadowed eyes and a rather sad mouth, but the ex- 
pression was one of such grace, sweetness and candor 
that the young man might be forgiven the cry of his 
heart, “ Amore mio, I have found you ! ” The morn- 
ing hour, the quiet church, with its incense-laden air, 
the first slow sunbeams creeping across the spaces 
overhead — all combined to make a perfect setting for 
the picture of his dreams. He closed his eyes so that 
it should be imprinted on his memory for ever. Then 
he opened them quickly, for the young girl and the old 
woman had risen and were moving away. Should 
he follow them at once? No, better wait a moment; 
he could catch up with them unnoticed as soon as they 
should have passed out into the street. Ah, here came 
a friendly-looking old sacristan to put the chairs back 
in their places ; he might know by what name heavenly 
visitants were called in this world of sin. 


GIANNELLA 


119 

La Biondina? ’’ queried Fra Tommaso in answer 
to the eager inquiry. Oh, she lives with Sora Mari- 
uccia somewhere over there in the Palazzo Santafede. 
They serve Professor Bianchi, the archaeologist — 
keep him and his books clean and cook his meals when 
he gives them anything to buy food with. La Gian- 
nella was an orphan whom Mariuccia took into com- 
passion and brought up. Now that she has grown 
big and pretty, they say the Professor wants to marry 
her — what silliness ! But she is a good girl and a 
great help to Mariuccia. Thank you, Signorino. Ar- 
rivederci,” as Rinaldo pressed a coin into his hand 
and scuttled away down the church in most unseemly 
haste. 

Fra Tommaso looked after him and shook his head 
with an indulgent smile. Youth and romance ap- 
pealed to the heart of him still, even as the dew and 
the sunshine penetrate to the heart of the gray old 
olive-tree and cause it to break out into leaf and fruit. 

When Rinaldo reached the street the elder woman 
had disappeared^ but ‘da Giannella ” (he wished her 
name had not such a Florentine sound!) was standing 
before the vegetable stall apparently bargaining for 
tomatoes with the witch who presided there. The 
girl was smiling down at her, but the witch kept her 
eyes on her knitting and growled, “ Take them or 
leave them. They are four baiocchi the pound to 
you as to others.’’ 

When Rinaldo, standing in the cover of his own 
doorway opposite, wondered what would happen next, 
Giannella stealthily drew the big key from her pocket 


120 


GIANNELLA 


and let it fall on the stones. The old lady looked up 
at the sudden clatter to find the girl still smiling at her 
and holding out three coppers in her hand. 

“ It is all I may spend, Sora Rosa,’’ she said coax- 
ingly. Won’t you be kind and give me the pound ? ” 

‘‘ Ah, furba, cunning one ! ” exclaimed the other, 
'' you always get what you want when you make me 
look at you. There, run along with my beautiful 
pomidori — and I hope they will choke the old miser 
you work for,” she added viciously, as Giannella gath- 
ered up her spoils and went quickly down the street. 

Of course Rinaldo followed her; that was a compli- 
ment one might pay to any woman so long as the regu- 
lation distance was maintained and no attempt made 
to attract her attention. He saw Giannella vanish into 
the palace, and then he slowly approached the portone, 
to try and find out which of the various stairways she 
would ascend. The building was so enormous, reach- 
ing the whole length of the street from Piazza Santa- 
fede to the Ripetta (on which thoroughfare its second 
fagade opened) that it would be difficult to locate the 
modest apartment probably occupied by the Professor 
and his ministrants. Rinaldo gazed through the arch- 
way to where a fountain was bubbling in the court- 
yard, and found courage to put his question to the 
porter, who was lounging about, smoking a pipe while 
his wife scrubbed the lower steps of the chief stair- 
case. It was so early that the maestro di casa had 
not come to open the cancelleria or office, a hall of 
sepulchral grimness on the ground floor, where the 
archives were kept and all the business of the house- 


GIANNELLA 


I2I 


hold and estates carried on. The palace was still in 
dressing-gown and slippers, so to speak, and the porter 
in a fairly condescending mood, so Rinaldo was in- 
formed that to find Professor Bianchi he must take 
the third staircase to the right and ascend to the fourth 
floor, where he would see the name on the door. 
Rinaldo passed in, bent on discovering whether the 
apartment looked into the courtyard or out on the 
Via Santafede; if the latter, there might be some 
chance of catching another glimpse of that lovely girl 
at one of the windows. Passing along under the col- 
onnade, where grooms were whistling and joking as 
they curried horses and sluiced down carriage wheels, 
he reached “ Scala III.’’ and raced up the long flights 
of steps, with two doors on every landing, and his 
heart beat more with exultation than exercise when at 
last he sprang on to the fourth of these and ascertained 
that “ Bianchi ” was the name on a shabby card nailed 
to the right-hand door. This was the street side. 

Ten minutes later he was back on his own terrace, 
craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the palace. 
Only a far corner was visible from where he stood. 
Between him and it, adjoining the side of his loggia, 
stretched the wide roof of the Fathers’ dwelling, most 
picturesquely diversified, as he now perceived, by de- 
tached rooms opening on flowery terraces perched at 
different levels, connected by irregular little flights of 
steps, and here and there by a small bridge, railed in 
where it spanned the depth of some inner court de- 
signed to give light to the central rooms of the old 
pile. 


122 


GIANNELLA 


All was deserted at this hour; the Fathers were busy 
in the church or with their pupils, far below; and 
Rinaldo, with a thrilling new sense of adventure, 
started on a voyage of discovery. Vaulting over his 
own parapet he landed on the flat gray tiles beyond 
and made his way, after one or two mistakes, which 
led him to closed doors, to the farther side of the little 
city on the roof. It struck him as a charming place, 
quite operatic in arrangement, and much more appro- 
priate for dreaming lovers than meditating monks. 

As he dropped over the last division he started back, 
dazed by a whirr of wings beating against his face. 
When they rose and hovered above his head he saw 
that he had disturbed a flock of pigeons who apparent- 
ly had their home in this delightful retreat. He was 
standing on a narrow loggia some twenty feet long, 
protected on the street side by a solid parapet on whose 
broad top bloomed carnations, roses and verbenas; a 
big oleander at one end waved its pink fragrant flow- 
ers against the stainless blue of the sky; at the other, 
a fat little lemon-tree displayed its pale rich fruit. 
Sweet herbs in boxes filled all available corners, and 
against a side wall, shaded by a tile roof which pro- 
jected over a glass door, was a neat dovecote, showing 
that the protesting pigeons were the rightful inhab- 
itants of the place. 

The door was open, and Rinaldo, curious as a girl, 
peeped in. But there was nothing to attract him in- 
side. A pallet bed, a table, a straw chair; a crucifix; 
and on the brick range a battered cooking pot; these 
constituted the furniture, and an embrowned old sacred 


GIANNELLA 


123 


print the only ornamentation. The explorer made a 
grimace at the austerity of the abode and stepped back 
to the parapet to carry out the real object of his visit. 
Yes, he had come to the right spot. Far below was 
the Via Santafede, and opposite, on a level slightly 
lower than the one where he stood, were certain fourth- 
floor windows which, by all the canons of topogra- 
phy, should belong to the Bianchi apartment. Four 
were closed and curtained; the fifth and sixth were 
open and evidently belonged to the kitchen, for Rinaldo 
could see the bricks of the floor and the corner of the 
range. There was one more beyond, open too, with a 
carnation flowering on the sill. Within was a low 
chair with a basket of work on it. Was this the spot 
where the Biondina was accustomed to sit? Fven 
as he framed the eager question, she came forward, 
put the basket down beside the chair and settled her- 
self to her sewing without once glancing up. She had 
removed her lace veil, and her bent head shone in 
the morning light as her needle flew in and out of the 
linen. Once she turned to speak to someone in the 
room, and Rinaldo ducked behind his flowered de- 
fenses in fear of being seen; but in a moment he was 
leaning over again, taking in every detail of the 'pic- 
ture across the street. 

Now came another diversion. Giannella found some 
Indian corn on the window sill and scattered it on 
the outer ledge, whistling softly. One, two, half-a- 
dozen pigeons materialized out of blue space, paused 
a moment among the flower-pots near Rinaldo, cocked 
their heads, considered well, and then descended in a 


124 


GIANNELLA 


flock to gather the golden harvest. He heard the girl 
laugh as she pushed away one which had boldly set- 
tled on her shoulder. Then someone within called 
sharply, and she left her place in haste. Rinaldo lin- 
gered awhile, but she did not return; and conscience, 
suddenly aware of the flight of time, drove him back 
to his own quarters, to the society of Themistocles, 
who was sick and sulky to-day, and of the lay figure, 
fallen stiffly aside in the grand chair, as if the red 
cotton cardinal were tired of waiting for his truant 
portrait painter. 


CHAPTER X 


M ARIUCCIA regarded it as too drastic an an- 
swer to her prayers when the erring padrone 
returned from Ostia shivering and sneezing, his clothes 
covered with green mud from the excavations where 
he had been joyously burrowing over some valuable 
discoveries just made in Tiber’s forgotten port. His 
boots were soaked — his lunch uneaten. 

“ Figlio mio,” cried Mariuccia, all her animosity 
quenched in anxious pity as she opened the door and 
beheld him in this heartbreaking condition. “ What 
have you been doing? But this is fatal. Domine 
Dio, you shake, you have fever. Animal that I was 
to let you go in those old boots. Come in and let 
me put you to bed at once.” 

Bianchi resigned himself to her ministrations only 
too gladly, and while she rolled him up in hot blankets 
and surrounded him with fortifications of scalding 
bricks, Giannella, all undeterred by the late hour, 
rushed off to the apothecary for quinine and other po- 
tent drugs. She had never found herself in the street 
after dark before, but charity gave her wings and she 
was whipped along by remorse. Suppose the poor 
padrone were to die? And she had been feeling so 
cross with him lately, had been so ungrateful for the 
little attentions which he had been trying to show her 
and which probably only her own stupid conceit had 

125 


9 


126 


GIANNELLA 


distorted into anything more alarming than kindness 
and condescension. Did man but know it, he has only 
to catch a cold in the head to make the women of his 
establishment forget all the grumpinesses and tyrannies 
of years. Poor darling, he wasn’t well all the time! 
What a shame to have resented shortcomings which 
one ought to have known were but symptoms of ap- 
proaching indisposition. Quick, cosset him, doctor 
him, and in a few days perhaps the gentle invalid will 
feel well enough to put his pretty foot on our necks 
again. 

The Professor basked contentedly enough in the ex- 
citement he had caused, and by the end of the second 
day was feeling much better. Mariuccia having re- 
duced him to a state of apparent subjugation and 
tucked him up in his blankets with fearful threats of 
what would overtake him if he put so much as a hand 
out of bed, hoisted a basket of wet linen on her head 
and climbed up to the roof where each tenant was 
allowed a small space for drying clothes. 

Giannella had been feeling unusually light-hearted 
all day. The padrone was better — what a comfort. 
And the house was peaceful; there had been no more 
“ little arguments ” between him and Mariuccia. Then 
the morning had been so lovely when she slipped out 
to the five o’clock Mass, a summer morning with 
fragrance everywhere, as if ghostly violets and roses 
had been dancing about the streets all night and had 
left their sweetness behind them when they fled at the 
coming of the sun. This was not her own idea; 
Giannella could not be called imaginative; she had 


GIANNELLA 


127 


found it in a book of very sentimental poems which 
somebody had most inappropriately presented to the 
Professor. But it struck her as pretty, and she had 
remembered it as she crossed the cool, empty piazza 
in the summer dawn. Then it had been most consol- 
ing to see a young man devoutly following the Mass. 
Young men were not in the habit of coming to church 
on weekdays; Mariuccia said they were too lazy or 
too frivolous. Mariuccia had a bad opinion of men 
in general, and Giannella accepted it, as she accepted 
most axioms enounced by her elders, in unruffled good 
faith. But here was living contradiction to such pes- 
simism, a sprightly-looking young gentleman, as well 
dressed as Don Onorato himself, kneeling piously on 
a pretty silk handkerchief from the Deus in adju- 
torium ” to the Ite Missa Est.’’ Giannella was sure 
that she had never turned her head to look at him, 
and was a little puzzled to know how she had ascer- 
tained all these attractive details. True, she had 
dropped her rosary — very stupidly — and he had 
picked it up and returned it to her with grave polite- 
ness but without attempting to meet her glance of 
thanks. Ah, how comforting it was to a Christian 
heart to witness such faith and piety. The world was 
perhaps not so evil after all. Mariuccia, and the dear 
nuns who used to rail at it, and Padre Anselmo, who 
told her to give special thanks for her separation from 
it, had never seen a good, handsome young man say- 
ing his prayers! 

So Giannella, singing softly to herself, was moving 
about, tidying up the kitchen (still redolent with damp 


128 


GIANNELLA 


soap from Mariuccia’s washtubs) when she heard the 
Professor calling for her. She ran to his door and 
looked in. There was very little of the Professor to 
be seen except a pair of mournful eyes and a long 
nose ; all the rest was blanket. ‘‘ Please give me my 
spectacles,” he whispered hoarsely, she took them 
away, and I am like one blind. They are over there 
on the bureau. Santa Pazienza! May I die of an 
apoplexy if I am ever so stupid as to catch cold again. 
She makes me do my purgatory, that woman.” 

Giannella brought the spectacles and respectfully 
placed them on the sufferer’s nose; he beamed at her 
through them gratefully. Then he asked for some- 
thing else, the Report of the Archaeological Society, 
there on the chair, under the coat. She handed it 
to him and was about to move away when he slipped 
the pamphlet under his pillow and, forgetting all his 
promises, put out a hand to detain the girl, saying, 
“ Wait a moment, Giannella. I have something to 
say to you — we may not be alone again.” 

Giannella gazed at him in surprise, Well, Signor 
Professore?” she asked. 

It is this,” he said ; but pray sit down. I fear 
you will be agitated. Calm yourself, my child, and 
be prepared for a beautiful piece of news.” 

He had never spoken to her so kindly before. 
What was coming? Something very pleasant, cer- 
tainly. Giannella carefully removed the coat and sat 
down on the only chair, directly facing him, an ex- 
pectant smile on her pretty face. 

The Professor coughed and took a sip of barley 


GIANNELLA 


129 


water. Giannella, you are a good girl,” he said 
solemnly, “ and you are about to be rewarded. Now 
— control your feelings — I intend to make you my 
wife.” 

Giannella sprang to her feet with a shriek. He 
smiled indulgently. “ I warned you not to give way 
to emotion,” he continued; ‘'of course you could not 
figure to yourself that this good fortune awaited you. 
There, there, Giannella — be calm, I entreat you.” 

The girl’s face had turned crimson, she appeared 
about to choke. Then she hid her face in her hands 
and turned away her head over the back of the chair. 
Her shoulders were heaving convulsively. 

The grating of a key in the lock of the front door 
brought the interview to a sudden end. “ Run,” 
whispered Bianchi, ducking down under his coverings 
with an expression of terror, “ she is coming. Not 
a word to her. Run, you can thank me another time.” 

Giannella was gone already, flying to the most dis- 
tant corner in the house, the corner behind her em- 
broidery frame. There she stood, close in the angle 
of the wall, her apron over her face, trying to sup- 
press all sound of the hysterical laughter which shook 
her from head to foot. 

Mariuccia’s war-horse tread resounded on the bricks 
of the kitchen. She called out through the open door, 
“Are you there, Giannella? Eh, but the roof is 
scorching to-day. I thought the soles of my shoes 
would come off.” Receiving no answer she came and 
peered into the work-room, saw the bowed figure in 
the corner, rushed to the girl and tore the apron away 


130 


GIANNELLA 


from her face. ‘‘ Giannella, what is the matter ? ” 
she cried. For the love of Heaven tell me what 
has happened.” 

“ Go to the padrone, quick,” gasped Giannella, look- 
ing up at her with scarlet cheeks and tear-drowned 
eyes. “ Oh, mamma mia, I shall die of laughing — 
it hurts — speak gently to him — he has gone mad.” 

Mariuccia turned pale and her jaw fell. “ Madonna 
Santissima,” she whispered, give me strength. Has 
he got a knife?” In imagination she saw the Pro- 
fessor leaping wildly round his room seeking for 
someone to kill. 

‘‘ No, no, he is quiet — there is no danger, but he 
is quite mad, I fear. It must be the fever, I suppose.” 

'' Leave it to me,” Mariuccia exclaimed. I will 
give him a calmante. Where is the camomile ? ” 

A few minutes later she entered his room on tiptoe, 
inwardly cursing the scrocchio,” the bit of hard- 
creaking leather which the shoemaker always put 
into the soles of the boots (and charged extra for, 
the brigand ! ) to make them sound new to their dying 
day. Bianchi was pretending to be asleep. His 
nurse came and leaned over him anxiously. He was 
breathing with suspicious regularity, and the confis- 
cated spectacles were still on his nose. 

‘‘ He has been getting up,” she whispered to her- 
self, and the poor boy has caught a chill. It has 
sent the blood to his head. But he shall perspire, I 
will put on leeches — it will pass. Padroncino,” she 
murmured coaxingly, “ wake up for a moment. 


GIANNELLA 


131 

Drink this.” And she held the scalding cup to his 
lips. 

The invalid was astute enough to see his advantage 
in her anxiety. He opened his eyes wearily and gazed 
up at her. ‘‘ I do feel very ill,” he said, and it is 
less from the cold I caught than from the agitation I 
suffered before going to Ostia. Oh, my nerves are 
in a terrible state. I was not fit to go — after you 
had made me that scene. My poor Mariuccia, you 
must never so upset me again. It is not safe. I do 
not know now whether I shall ever recover from the 
shock.” 

“ What do you feel ? ” she asked anxiously. Is 
it the head? Oh, you break my heart. Rash beast 
that I was to let my evil tongue so disturb you.” 

‘‘ And all for nothing,” continued the patient re- 
proachfully. What had I done? Merely proposed 
an act of benervolence — which I intended to follow up 
with one of noble generosity. But your ignorant im- 
petuosity shall not turn me from my purpose. If I 
recover from this terrible illness, this fire in my head, 
this numbness in my limbs, then, my good Mariuccia, 
you shall carry the burden of maintaining Giannella 
no longer. That pertains to me in future. Have 
you not realized that I am going to marry her ? ” 

‘‘ Dio mio,” wailed the old woman, the girl is 
right, the fever has gone to his head.” Then, forcing 
herself to be calm for the sick man’s sake, she said 
in soothing tones, “ Padroncino mio bello, you are 
agitating yourself again. You must not talk any 


132 


GIANNELLA 


more. Go to sleep — and when you are better you 
shall say all that is in your mind. There, are you 
comfortable?” She smoothed the pillows, drew up 
the coverings, and left him in the darkened room. 

Outside in the passage she leaned back against the 
wall, faint with fear and remorse. It was all her 
fault. Who could say how this dreadful visitation 
would end? In a fatal illness, or in permanent de- 
rangement of that illustrious understanding? She 
would fetch a doctor at once — God send she should 
not have to go for the priest ! 

There was an anxious consultation between the twO' 
women over the kitchen table that night. The doctor, 
put in possession of the facts, had diagnosed the dis- 
temper as ‘Wabbia* rientrata ” (unvented anger), one 
of the most dangerous known to the faculty. How 
many regrettable losses to society had it not caused ! 
And how unfortunate that the aid of science should 
not have been invoked at once. What could one do 
after well-intentioned but ignorant persons had taken 
it upon themselves to treat it for forty-eight hours ? 

Mariuccia and Giannella collapsed under this bitter 
reproach, and it was only when the afflicted Professor 
had been finally lured to slumber by innocent opiates 
of orange-flower water that Giannella recovered suffi- 
ciently to remark to her companion, I do not think 
we really made so many mistakes, after all. What 
did the doctor order but just what you had done? 
Leeches, quinine, a sedative — I wonder if he knows 
so very much more than you do ? ” 

“ Tell me, Giannella? ” Mariuccia asked, lifting her 


GIANNELLA 


133 


head and looking at the girl curiously, I had not 
time to ask you before — what did the padrone say 
to you? What was it that first showed you he was 
delirious ? ” 

Giannella thought for a moment, then she replied, 
while the lamplight showed a gleam of rebellious 
amusement in her eyes, “ He told that me he had a 
piece of beautiful good news for me, and I sat down 
•to hear it — and then he said he — he intended to 
marry me. I could not help laughing. He looked so 
funny, and the thought was such craziness. But I 
am sorry — I should have had more heart.” 

Mariuccia reflected ; then she shook her head sagely. 

This craziness has been coming on for a long time, 
I believe,” she said, ‘‘ it is not all the result of our 
little argument the other day. I must tell you now — 
though I did not mean to — that we were talking 
about you then, Giannella. He said he wished to pay 
for your board — he, who counts his coins as if they 
were beads of a rosary. ‘ Santo Baiocco, ora pro 
nobis ! ’ Proverino, it is his only fault. I ought not 
to speak of it now that he is in such danger. And 
then I was angry — and he said to me what he said 
to you this morning, that he intended to marry you. 
Now let us reason a little, figlia mia. You have been 
at home for over four years, and the padrone hardly 
seemed to see you till three months ago. He changed 
then, suddenly. Now have you no suspicion of what 
was the cause ? ” 

I cannot imagine,” replied Giannella 'simply. ‘‘ I 
thought at first that perhaps he was sorry for me 


134 


GIANNELLA 


because I should soon be growing old and ugly and 
my shoes were going to pieces — and since dear 
Signora Dati of good memory died — and the Princess 
is too busy to remember, there is no one to get me 
any work. But now he speaks of — marriage. What 
man in his right senses could wish to marry me, nearly 
twenty-one and without a penny?” She looked up 
in perplexed good faith as she asked the question, and 
the lamplight fell on the calm, lovely face which had 
so enchanted one man that he dreamed of it all night 
and crept down to the church morning after morn- 
ing to catch another glimpse of it. 

“ There might be plenty,” growled Mariuccia, “ if 
they could only see you. You will be beautiful till 
you are a hundred, core of my heart. Now don’t 
smother me ! ” for Giannella suddenly ran round the 
table and hugged her friend. ‘‘ But the padrone is 
not like other men. The time has come when I must 
tell you what I have discovered. You are young, you 
saw nothing, but I saw, I understood. This bewitch- 
ment had a beginning. It came with the first visit of 
that stout gentleman who asked you such strange 
questions. Do you remember? Ah, they could not 
deceive me. I wish I had thought of it when he was 
last here. If he comes again I will ask him some 
questions, I can tell you. What did he want here, 
putting folly into my poor boy’s head and disturbing 
the tranquillity of a Christian family? I have lived 
twenty-three years with that poor afflicted angel in 
there, and never have we had a disagreement till that 


GIANNELLA 


135 


fat demon, whoever he was, came to upset us all, 
and may his best dead suffer for it. There, it is late, 
go to bed, Giannella, I am going to sit up in here — the 
padrone may want something.” 


CHAPTER XI 


B IANCHI judged it prudent to prolong his relapse 
in order to profit by the softening of heart it had 
induced in his attendants. He obeyed Mariuccia’s 
commands with touching submission and kept her 
affectionately uneasy about him by well-timed sighs 
and complaints. She would not leave the house till 
he should be better, and she would not leave Gian- 
nella alone with him; in fact she bade her keep out 
of his sight altogether, hoping rather forlornly that 
his mad project would disappear with the other symp- 
toms of his alarming indisposition. 

So Giannella went alone to Mass and marketing, 
and came home each day with more pink in her cheeks, 
more light in her eyes. Her spirits seemed to have 
returned and she hummed little tunes over her work, 
just as she had done when she first came back from 
the convent. Some of the moist sweetness of the 
summer morning followed her in when Mariuccia 
opened the door to her and her parcels at seven 
o'clock; and through the long hot days of July she 
looked as fresh and bright as an opening rose in the 
first sunbeam. 

The inhabitants of the Via Tresette knew all about 
it long before Giannella did. The dairyman’s wife 
told her lord that the Signorino Goffi was as good as 
in love, “ bello che innamorato,” with the Biondina. 


GIANNELLA 


137 


“ Don’t tell me,” she declared, “ that a young fellow 
like that would go to church every day at five o’clock 
— and bring down a clean handkerchief to kneel on 
every blessed morning — if he were not in love! He 
is rich. Has he not a splendid vigna outside Porta 
San Giovanni, from which he received fruit and wine 
but yesterday? The man who brought it told me 
all about him. He is disinterested, one can see that, 
for he did not bargain more than a day over the 
rooms, and he has never tried to beat me down on 
the eggs and ricotta — oh, he will marry Mariuccia’s 
Biondina, and was I not the cleverest of women to 
insist on your building a good apartment that could 
accommodate a family, instead of just a studio and a 
cubbyhole of a kitchen as you wished to do? ” 

Sora Rosa opposite nodded her old head in approval 
of these sentiments, delivered in clarion tones on the 
dairyman’s doorstep. She had seen it happening for 
a week now, had seen Giannella come down the street 
from Palazzo Santafede with the sun behind her 
and Rinaldo with the sun on his face emerge from 
his door at the same moment; had seen them meet 
at the low entrance tp the San Severino courtyard, 
pause an instant, smile involuntarily, and then dis- 
appear as the heavy old portal swung to behind them. 

Fra Tommaso too knew all about it. Divided 
between sympathy for the youth and romance, and 
jealousy for the respect due the sacred precincts, he 
had watched his old and his new parishioner closely, 
but had found nothing to criticise in their behavior. 
“ Good children, good children,” he said to himself as 


GIANNELLA 


138 

he saw Giannella go out and Rialdo follow her, with 
proper deliberation. Of course he had obtained the 
young man’s history in full from the communicative 
lady of the dairy, and indulged in a little self-approval 
for having been the immediate instrument of obtain- 
ing for the Biondina the fine instruction which would 
fit her to be the sposa of that superior young gentle- 
man, Signorina Goffi. Padre Anselmo might talk 
about the evils of human distractions, but there could 
not be anything very dangerous in them when they 
had such splendid results at this. 

Things were nothing like so clear to the hero and 
heroine of the popular little romance. They had 
traveled no farther than the outer garden of love’s 
fairy habitation, and Giannella at any rate did not 
dream that anything sweeter or more perfect could lie 
beyond. The thrilling excitement of seeing Rinaldo 
coming to meet her at the doorway, the silent passage 
to their places in the chapel, the kneeling so near 
each other for the blessed half hour — this had seemed 
enough at first to bring her happiness for the day. 
But when on the fourth morning Rinaldo had over- 
taken her in the court, and, with profound apologies, 
returned to her the purse and key which she had left 
lying on the chair — when, baring his head he looked 
in her face and she saw the glow on his and heard 
his voice for the first time — then Giannella’s heart 
beat so wildly that she could find no words to say and 
her trembling fingers almost dropped the objects he 
held out to her. 

Together they had left the courtyard, and Rinaldo, 


GIANNELLA 


139 


lifting his hat respectfully, had turned away fearing 
she might think he was going to have the presumption 
to accompany her. But when, on looking round, he 
saw her entering the dairy, he reached the threshold 
in two strides, for here was his opportunity. Sora 
Amalia, the proprietress, should introduce him prop- 
erly. Then Giannella would know as much about 
him as he already knew about her. After that — 
leave it to him to make the most of the acquaintance. 

As he entered the dark cool shop, Giannella was 
burying her face in a huge posy of carnations which 
stood on the marble counter midway between the 
butter and the fresh eggs. Sora Amalia gave him a 
cheery good-morning, and Giannella lifted her' face, 
all rosy, and dewy from the flowers, and drew back 
a little as if to wait her turn until the new-comer 
should have been attended to. Rinaldo, with a quick 
movement of the head, manifested his wish to Sora 
Amalia, who, smiling broadly, said : ‘‘ Signorina 
Giannella, this is Signor Gofli, the great painter, who 
has taken our apartment. Some day, if you like, I 
will take you upstairs and show you his pictures. 
For to me he is already like a son. Oh, signorino, 
that salad you gave me from your vigna — it was a 
cream, a flower of tenderness. That of Sora Rosa 
over there is material, tough, compared to it. And the 
wine — of a sincerity we had a treat last night, Pippo 
and 

She chattered on, to give the young people time to 
look at each other, and also to impress Giannella with 
the importance of the new lodger. As soon as she 


140 GIANNELLA 

ceased, Rinaldo caught at the proposal contained in 
her speech. 

My pictures are nothing to mount the stairs for, 
signorina,’' he said eagerly, ‘‘ but the view — if you 
would condescend, and Sora Amalia could come up 
now ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, not now, I am afraid I have not time,” Gian- 
nella interposed, addressing Sora Amalia ; “ another 
day, perhaps, if you can come — and Signor Goffi 
permits?” she added, looking up at him and flushing 
divinely. “ Now I have still to go to the apothecary 
with this prescription — and he is not very near — and 
does take so long to prepare the medicine — and you 
know, Sora Amalia, there is much to do at home.” 

Is there illness in the family, signorina ? ” Rinaldo 
inquired with concern. “ It grieves me to hear it.” 

Sora Amalia touched his hand as it lay on the 
counter and gave him a broad wink with the eye Gian- 
nella could not see. “ Illness ? ” she exclaimed, there 
is indeed. The Signor Professore has been in bed 
for a week. Now, signorino, if you wish to do him a 
good turn — and get a nice walk in the morning 
air for your health’s sake — you will take this pre- 
scription and get it made up, and bring it yourself to 
Sora Mariuccia, who will thank you for sending Gian- 
nella home so quickly.” 

She had whisked the paper from the girl’s hand and 
held it out to him, laughingly defending it from the 
rightful owner, who was trying to get it back. 

“ Oh, please, Sora Amalia,” Giannella pleaded, 
‘‘ how can you imagine that I would let Signor Goffl 


GIANNELLA 


141 

take all that trouble for us? I will go for it myself, 
of course/’ 

But Rinaldo was quick to seize the golden oppor- 
tunity. The paper vanished into his pocket and he 
was making for the door when Giannella ran after 
him. “ Please, please, since you are determined to 
be so charitable,” she said, “ here is the money to pay 
for it,” and she tendered a silver coin. He took it 
gravely, and they both paled a little at the touch of 
hand and hand. 

“ I will bring the medicine to the palazzo,” he said 
rather huskily. 

How could you, Sora Amalia? ” Giannella remon- 
strated when he was gone; “what will he think of 
being asked to do such a thing for a stranger ? ” 

“ I will show you to-morrow what he thinks,” re- 
plied the good woman, “ and perhaps I will give you 
some of it. There will be a pile of fruit and veg- 
etables a yard high, from his vigna, on this counter 
to-morrow morning. Run along and tell Sora 
Mariuccia all about it — and be sure to open the 
door to him yourself when he brings the medicine.” 

Giannella was rather reticent with Mariuccia, how- 
ever, and gave her story of how Sora Amalia’s lodger 
had run off with the prescription in as few words as 
possible. She expected to receive a good scolding for 
the indiscretion she must have committed — or per- 
mitted — before things reached such a pass, though 
she could not quite see where she had been in fault. 

Mariuccia had no such doubts. “ That blessed 
Sora Amalia ! ” she exclaimed, her eyebrows meeting 

lU 


142 


GIANNELLA 


in rhadamanthine severity across her low forehead. 
“ What a want of education ! Could she not per- 
ceive that she was taking the most indiscreet liberty — 
imposing on the gentleman’s good nature, so that 
he must have been deeply displeased? I will apolo- 
gize to him when he comes. I will tell him that we 
are shocked at that woman’s imprudence. Four 
flights of stairs to climb, and his time wasted! I 
wonder you did not die of shame, Giannella, at being 
made the occasion of such inconvenience to him.” 

Giannella remembered Signor Goffl’s ecstatic alac- 
rity and ventured to say that he did not seem at all 
annoyed, on the contrary, very happy to be of service. 

“ Then,” thundered Mariuccia, “ you have spoken 
to him before. You have permitted him to make your 
acquaintance — in secret. Oh, this is terrible. How 
can I ever let you out of my sight again? ” 

I never spoke to him till this morning,” cried the 
girl. ‘‘ I have seen him, yes, how could I help it ? He 
comes to Mass every day. Is the church my private 
chapel? Is no one else to enter it while her Excel- 
lency, Giannella Brockmann, is saying her prayers 
there? How dare you say that I have made his ac- 
quaintance in secret? 1 will not hear such things. 
You speak as if you believed evil of me.” 

Was this Mariuccia’s submissive Giannella, this 
outraged young woman with scarlet cheeks and flash- 
ing eyes standing up to her inquisitor with rebellion 
in every tone of her voice? Mariuccia drew back 
from her in surprise, and before she had recovered 
enough to reply, the doorbell tinkled hoarsely. 


GIANNELLA 


143 


There he is,’* said Giannella. You must open to 
him yourself. I will not. He would see that you 
have been pouring shame over me.” And she turned 
her back and sat down to her work, shaking with 
indignation. 

Mariuccia went to the door, nothing loth. ‘‘ I shall 
see what he is like at any rate,” she told herself in 
the passage. “ Some silly dandy who thinks he can 
make eyes at a poor girl because she has to go out 
alone. That’s the kind. But I’ll settle him.” And 
she opened the door with a jerk and stood squarely 
on the threshold as if barring the way to impertinent 
intruders. 

“With permission?” inquired a courteous voice, 
and one hand held out a small parcel while the other re- 
moved the hat from a handsome young head. “ 1 
took the liberty — Sora Mariuccia will pardon me, 
I trust. I have heard of her so much from Fra Tom- 
maso — and I knew she was anxious to have this 
as soon as possible. How is the chiarissimo Profes- 
sore this morning ? ” 

If the young man felt any chagrin at the substitution 
of this janitress for a prettier one he effaced all 
signs of it from his address. He was so good-looking, 
so urbane, there was such honest kindness in his smile, 
that the hardest feminine heart must have softened to 
him. Mariuccia thawed at once. What if he were 
to prove — but she chased away the rosy dream, and 
answered his inquiry about the padrone’s health, 
thanked him for his amiability and, remembering that 
the Professor was safe in bed, was actually going to 


144 


GIANNELLA 


ask Rinaldo to enter. It went against all her tradi- 
tions to keep anyone standing at the threshold. 

But Rinaldo had his traditions too. One did not 
impose oneself as a visitor on the strength of a 
rendered service. “ Levo V incommodo ” (I remove 
the inconvenience of my presence), he said, bowing 
and turning to depart. Then a thought struck him, and 
he came back to ask : ‘‘ Can I be of any service in the 
way of commissions while the Professor is ill? it 
would be for me a pleasure. I live over the dairy in 
the Via Tresette, close by. A word to Sora Amalia, 
and I am at your disposal at any time, day or night. 
Arrivederci, Sora Mariuccia.’^ 

“ A beautiful youth,” she remarked to herself when 
she had thanked him and closed the door. ‘‘ And 
well brought up. He would not even come in. I do 
not believe he is running after Giannella at all. Poor 
child — it might be a good thing for her if he did — 
if he 'has any money. San Giuseppe mio, send us a 
good husband for her, and restore my little padrone 
to his right mind. I will never complain of his 
faults any more if only he drops his crazy idea of 
marrying Giannella. Eccomi qua, here I come ! ” 
This in answer to a querulous call from the invalid’s 
room. 

When she returned to the kitchen Giannella’s bad 
temper had disappeared. She was standing at the 
window amusing herself with feeding Fra Tommaso’s 
pigeons, who looked upon her as their supplementary 
Providence, since she always had crumbs and corn in 
store for them. The wide window sill so near the 


GIANNELLA 


145 


deep palace eaves was shady in the hot hours, and the 
pretty tame creatures often haunted it, strutting up 
and down, carrying on their little sham fights over 
tempting morsels or boldly hopping on Giannella’s 
shoulder to ask for more. She was quite unconscious 
that she was ever watched from across the way at 
these moments, but, to tell the truth, Rinaldo tres- 
passed unwarrantably on Fra Tommaso’s premises and 
wasted a good deal of time in the occupation of 
feeding his eyes on the sight of his goddess and the 
preoccupation of preventing her or anyone else from 
finding it out. 

Themistocles was bolder. He had taken to Fra 
Tommaso’s loggia and his own kin there very kindly, 
and had wheeled towards Giannella’s window more 
than once in the wake of the rest; but he had never 
settled there till this morning, when he at last per- 
mitted himself to be courted and captured. 

Fra Tommaso has got a new pigeon and a fine 
name for it too,” said Giannella as Mariuccia entered. 
She had made up her mind to pardon her old friend 
and this seemed a good way of opening up a recon- 
ciliation. ‘‘ See, is he not a beauty ? And he has a 
silver band round his neck, with ‘ Themistocles ’ on 
it. What grandeur! Fra Tommaso grows extrava- 
gant in his old age. Ah, ungrateful one,” she cried, 
as the bird slipped from her hand and soared away 
over the convent roof, “ being full you depart, but 
you will return with great love when you are hungry 
again.” 

That reminds me,” Mariuccia replied, catching 


146 


GIANNELLA 


at the flag of truce, '‘that gentleman who brought 
the medicine just now spoke of Fra Tommaso. He 
seems a nice quiet young man.” 

“ Who? Fra Tommaso? ” Giannella asked. “ He 
seems to me a nice talkative old one.” And she 
laughed, being too full of happiness to quarrel long 
with anyone to-day. Her troubles seemed to have 
vanished into air. The padrone was out of sight and 
mind, and the sun was rising on her horizon at last. 

After this it was impossible to refuse to speak to 
Rinaldo when she met him in the mornings, and 
the little conversations in the back court of San 
Severino became very friendly and intimate. Rinaldo 
always began with eager inquiries after the health of 
the illustrious Professor, as if his peace of mind de- 
pended on the answer. Then he hoped that the most 
respectable Sora Mariuccia was well. After that, con- 
ventionalities were forgotten. In the most natural 
way in the world each came to know all about the 
other. Rinaldo had learned Giannella’s limited life 
story from her own lips, had had to avow his admira- 
tion of Mariuccia’s goodness — “ She is an angel, that 
woman,” Giannella declared one morning, her eyes 
suffused with emotion ; “ she seems cross and rough, 
but she has a heart of gold. Oh, you will love her 
when you know her better.” 

And Rinaldo, his heart quite full of another love, 
proclaimed that he already felt for the good woman 
the affection of a son. There was nothing he would 
not do to prove it. Let Giannella try him. Mean- 
while, would she not persuade Sora Mariuccia to 


GIANNELLA 


147 


bring her to his studio some Sunday afternoon? 
They could have a little refreshment on the terrace, 
and he would get his friend, Peppino Sacchetti, who 
sang divinely, to come and bring his mandolin, and 
though indeed the pictures were not worth looking 
at, the signorina would be amused at the antics of 
the pigeon, Themistocles, who would dance about 
when Peppino played, and was altogether a most 
sagacious bird. 

The first part of this speech opened up a dizzy 
vista of happiness not to be contemplated for a moment 
when one had only one old frock and one’s shoes were 
going to pieces. So, with a determined gulp, Gian- 
nella ignored it and replied to the last words only. 

Oh, he is yours then, the one with the silver 
collar? I thought he belonged to Fra Tommaso. 
Why, he comes to see me ever day.” 

Beato lui, too happy bird ! ” cried Rinaldo, with 
sudden passion in eyes and voice. “ My little sister 
sent him to me from Orbetello, saying he would bring 
me good fortune. It is he who is fortunate.” Then, 
as the color flushed up in Giannella’s cheek at his cry, 
he went on more quietly, Signorina, I am coming 
to-morrow to bring Sora Mariuccia something from 
the vigna — poor stuff, but fresher than we get in the 
city. Then I shall myself invite her for next Sunday. 
What kind of ice-cream do you like best.” 

“ Framboise,” she replied, without a moment’s hesi- 
tation. Then she remembered. Such pleasures were 
not for her. She turned away to hide the silly tears 
that would come into her eyes, and said chokingly, 


148 


GIANNELLA 


Oh, please do not speak of it, Signor Goffi. It is 
quite impossible — there are good reasons. We never 
go anywhere — we could not come.” 

Rinaldo was silent, looking at the averted head 
where the gold gleamed royally through the carefully 
mended lace. His trained eye took in the poverty of 
the thin black dress with its neat little darns here and 
there; it clothed the delicate young form very kindly, 
but it was a thousand times unworthy of such honor. 
Being artist as well as lover, he understood, and his 
heart was so hot with love and pity that for the first 
time in his life words failed him. Giannella moved 
towards the outer gate of the court, and he followed 
dumbly, aching to find expression for what he felt. 
But there was nothing to say which would not have 
been an offense; he could not offer sympathy where 
he had no right to seem to understand. His Latin 
tact came to his aid, however, as he held the door 
open for her to pass out. 

‘‘We will put off our party a little, then, signorina,” 
he said, gentle detaining her. “ The weather is warm 
just now. Perhaps it would please you better to come 
to the vigna, some day when the grapes are ripe? It 
will be*, cooler then.” And he added to himself, “ And 
by that time, my beautiful heart, you will have a 
Sunday dress of splendid blue silk, and a gold chain 
to match your hair, and you will go to your own, 
for the vigna will belong to you. We will be married 
on the first Sunday in October, and what a sposina 
you will make ! ” 

Giannella murmured something and hastened away 


GIANNELLA 


149 


towards the Piazza Santa fede, and Rinaldo stood look- 
ing after her till she disappeared. Then he regained 
his studio in haste, and applied himself to the picture 
for the rich foreigner. He was to receive five hundred 
scudi for it, and that was just the sum he wanted to 
put the apartment in order and buy his wedding gifts 
for his bride. He had been tempted to commit the 
extravagance of having a living model this time, so 
as to get on faster; but he reflected that the hired 
peasant would not look much more like a real cardinal 
than the ever-obedient but rickety clay figure, and then 
— three pauls an hour ! No, it was not to be thought 
of — when one had set one’s mind on that other ex- 
travagance, that holy folly of marriage. 

‘‘ Come along, your Eminence,” he exclaimed as he 
knocked Themistocles off the ragged head and crowned 
it with a red skullcap. Then he got his old friend 
seated in the cherub-crowned chair, pinned the red 
tablecloth round him in dignified folds, and in half-an- 
hour had forgotten that he was not contemplating a 
live dignitary of the Church. 

Towards evening the friend of whom he had spoken 
to Giannella, Peppino Sacchetti, came to tempt him 
away to the Tiber for a row and a swim before the 
sun went down. 

Capperi, Nalduccio,” he cried as he looked from 
the model to the picture, ‘‘ but you have a fine big 
imagination! I could not have drawn that from our 
old manikin. I see Themistocles has been trying to 
mend that bump on its nose. When are you going 
to have living models? You are a rich man, you 


GIANNELLA 


150 

rascal, and you can pay for them now. I wish I 
could.” 

“ Peppino mio,” replied Rinaldo, as he worked his 
palette off his thumb and prepared to wash his brushes, 
‘‘ I shall have a living model, and a very beautiful one, 
next October. Meanwhile I have an imagination 
which is neither fine nor big — but, thank Heaven, 
extremely obedient. It saves me much money. 
While I am painting, I see a cardinal, and I am most 
respectful to him. I address that person in the table- 
cloth as ‘ your Eminence ’ and push him into his place 
with reverence when he tumbles down. When the 
rich foreigner receives the picture, he also sees a 
cardinal, and he admires him, for he has probably 
never cast eyes on a real one. The picture goes with 
him to his nasty cold heretic country where there are 
no cardinals. Everybody admires it, and the naturally 
good of heart wish that they belonged to a Church 
governed by noble ecclesiastics with pink cheeks and 
Chinese white hair and beautiful taper fingers (I 
always draw the hands from those same old casts), 
and if God is good to them they come to Rome and 
save their souls. I obtain all these fine results and 
save many precious scudi — because I have an obedi- 
ent imagination. Cultivate one, Peppino mio, it is 
as good as a savings bank.” 


CHAPTER XII 


T he hereditary lawyer of the Santafede family 
caused great inconvenience about this time by 
leaving a world of woe and circumlocution, to reap 
the reward stored up for honest men of business else- 
where. Since that section of the heavenly mansions 
cannot be overcrowded it is to be hoped that he met 
with a warm welcome. His demise, lamentable 
though it appeared to his employers, brought solid 
satisfaction to his successor, a stout young gentleman 
with a turn for malicious humor, whom he had him- 
self trained and designated as the disciple on whom 
his mantle of faded parchments was to fall when he 
himself should no longer have any use for it. 

Guglielmo De Sanctis swelled with pride when 
Ferretti, the power behind the Santafede throne, sent 
for him to come to the cancelleria to make out a new 
lease for one of the apartments. He had acquired 
considerable knowledge of the Santafede affairs 
through having for some years passed attended to 
those of the Princess’s brother. Cardinal Cestaldini, 
who had warmly endorsed his recommendation for the 
vacant post. As the young lawyer saw in the ap- 
pointment another source of income and honor for the 
rest of his life, his heart was gay within him as he 
passed under the archway into the Santafede palace 

151 


GIANNELLA 


152 

to answer the maestro di casa’s summons one fine 
morning late in July. 

The Professor was better that day and Mariuccia 
intended to regale him with one of her “ golden fries 
Giannella, running out in haste to buy whitebait and 
cucumbers, and counting her coppers in the corner of 
the red handkerchief which takes the place of the 
market basket in Rome, nearly bumped into the lawyer 
as he turned the angle of the colonnade. She pulled 
up with hurried excuses ; he declared they should come 
from him; and then, recognizing the padrone's mys- 
terious visitor of some weeks ago, she greeted him 
politely and asked after his respectable health. He 
did not reply at once, but stood looking at her with 
slightly knitted brow and a puzzled expression. Then, 
calling up a smile, he removed his hat and held it 
in his hand while he assured her that his health was 
fairly good, thank Heaven, hoped the scirocco was 
not too trying to that of the Signorina Brockmann; 
though indeed, if he might be permitted to say so 
in all sincerity, that was evident, since she looked 
so well (his eyes said: so pretty), and reminded her 
that he was always at her command should she require 
his services. 

Giannella, unaccustomed to flowery speeches, was 
puzzled in her turn; she thanked him briefly, and 
passed on, unwilling to be seen conversing alone with 
any young man — except one. De Sanctis turned 
and gazed after her. ‘‘ What a curious girl ! ” he said 
to himself ; she has bought no finery, she runs out 
marketing with a red handkerchief and a few baiocchi 


GIANNELLA 


153 


— I wonder what she is doing with her money? I 
suppose she has lived so long with Bianchi that she 
has caught some of his parsimonious tricks. Oh well, 
it is none of my business. Now for Ferretti,” and 
he dived into the cool vaulted hall of the cancelleria. 

The Professor was certainly much better. Indeed 
he intended to go out that afternoon to visit the 
Cardinal and have an exciting talk about a discovery 
made by his Eminence, a bit of an inscription un- 
earthed in the Cestaldini cellars by the workmen who 
were repairing the drains. At this time of year these 
were always looked to, as heavy rains usually closed 
the long summer drought, and the Tiber, rising in 
his silt-choked bed, was apt to bubble up and make 
improvised fountains in unexpected places. On the 
discovery of the interesting fragment the Cardinal 
had suspended the repairs, feeling sure that the re- 
mainder of the inscription could be found, and had 
sent for his friend Carlo Bianchi, that light of dark 
learnings, to come and advise him as to further 
investigations. 

Bianchi was keen to get on the scent, but there 
was one visit he proposed to pay before calling on 
the Cardinal. In all the dignity of clean clothes and 
returning health, he summoned Giannella to his study 
that morning and repeated his declaration of the 
generous intention to add to all his past kindness 
to her by shortly making her his wife. Seeing that he 
was perfectly well and otherwise in his right mind 
she did not laugh this time, but told him, with a 
quiet decision he had never yet seen her display, that 


154 


GIANNELLA 


she could not even pretend to consider his proposal 
an honor; it was degrading to himself and repulsive 
to her. What possible grounds for a union, she 
asked, could exist between them ? He was old enough 
to be her father, rich and distinguished. She was 
a waif and a pauper, and ignorant in the extreme, 
having forgotten, as she mournfully declared, the 
little book learning that the nuns had taught her, 
and being now only fit to cook and clean and mend, 
services she was most willing to render him in return 
for his charity in allowing her to live under his roof. 
There she trusted she might still remain — if he would 
at once and forever abandon a project, the fulfillment 
of which would only make him ridiculous in the eyes 
of his friends, and to which she herself would never, 
never consent. 

Exit Giannella, shaking with the anger of battle, 
so new to her calm, equable nature, and enter 
Mariuccia, who had frankly listened at the keyhole 
and heard every word. This time she would not 
let her feelings master her. She preserved a respect- 
ful attitude — with superhuman effort and many 
mental appeals to “ Domine Dio ” to keep His Hand 
on her head. After repeating all Giannella’s argu- 
ments, she implored her beloved padroncino, whom 
she loved as a master and as a son, by all he held 
dearest in life, personal comfort, avoidance of ex- 
pense, the respect of his many admiring friends, to 
put this caprice out of his clever head and restore 
peace to his unfortunate but ever devoted family. 

Mariuccia’s address was a triumph of good sense 


GIANNELLA 


155 


and good temper, but Bianchi was unmoved by it. A 
stony silence ensued when she ceased. Then Bianchi, 
glowering at her through those big spectacles, told 
her that an ignorant female could be no judge of an 
instructed man's motives or actions; that he thanked 
her for her expressions of affection, which he wished 
she would prove by either minding her own business 
or by using her influence to bring Giannella to a 
more reasonable fram.e of mind. He intended — • 
here he glanced at a fly-blown calendar on the wall 
and appeared to be making a rapid mental calculation 
— yes, he intended to espouse Giannella in about three 
weeks; in any case before the end of August. 
Mariuccia might retire. He was going out. 

Mariuccia, cold at heart, found her way back to 
the kitchen, sank into a chair and let her head fall 
forward on the table. Giannella, who had been work- 
ing off her feelings by some violent sweeping in the 
inner room, came and knelt beside her and comforted 
her dumbly; both their hearts were heavy with the 
sense of disaster, but Giannella had something which 
Mariuccia had not — youth and love and hope, to 
strengthen her hard tried courage. 

When he was left alone Bianchi locked the door 
and stuffed a bit of paper into the key hole. Then 
he took a rusty key from his vest pocket and opened 
the old secretary by the window. From one of the 
pigeon holes he drew forth a bundle of papers, laid 
them on the table, and read them through one by 
one. Had Giannella been able to look over his 
shoulder her eyes would have opened wide at the 


GIANNELLA 


156 

revelations they contained, and at the same time all 
surprise at the padrone’s extraordinary infatuation 
would have died with the knowledge. But Giannella, 
Bianchi was resolved, never should see them, never 
should know that her unwillingly written signature was 
attached to the acknowledgment of certain respectable 
sums accruing to her while she should be still under 
the Professor’s tutelage as^ a minor, and to be de- 
livered into her own keeping on her twenty-first birth- 
day. For the documents on Bianchi’s table set forth 
that one Siegfried Brockmann, a merchant in Copen- 
hagen, had died about a year earlier, leaving his 
modest fortune to the person who should prove to be 
his nearest relation. As he had had a brother who 
lived abroad, the conscientious authorities instituted 
a search, which resulted in the discovery that the 
brother had met his end in Rome, and that the person 
who should claim the benefit of Siegfried Brock- 
mann’s will was this brother’s daughter, proved by 
the records of the Danish Consulate to have survived 
her father. Inquiries of the police (who in those 
days kept a strict registry of the families of all house- 
holders), and of the parish priests, revealed that the 
child had been taken in charge by one Mariuccia 
Botti, who had ever since that date been in the service 
of Professor Carlo Bianchi, the distinguished ar- 
chaeologist. As this gentleman, when referred to, 
claimed to be the responsible guardian of the girl, 
and furnished, from his hastily reconstructed memoirs, 
convincing proofs of her identity, the negotiations for 
the transfer of the money were carried on with him 


GIANNELLA 


157 


by Signor De Sanctis, the legal adviser of the Danish 
Consulate, and he was now in command of some two 
thousand scudi a year, to be handed over in due form 
to Giannella on her coming of age in the ensuing 
September. Since that date was so close when the 
business was finally wound up in July, it was agreed 
that the principal, together with the year’s income 
which had accrued between the testator’s death and 
the finding of his heir, should lie at interest in the 
Banco di Roma, barring the sum of one hundred 
scudi handed to Bianchi to pay him for Giannella’s 
maintainance during the interval, and two hundred 
to be given to the girl herself to provide her with a 
proper wardrobe and a little pocket money. 

It was for this sum that Giannella had signed a 
receipt. The Professor, on the first announcement 
of her inheritance, confided to De Sanctis that the 
girl was of a nervous, excitable temperament, and 
begged to be allowed to inform her of her good for- 
tune himself. He would break the news quietly and 
gently. He added that she was shy with strangers, 
and, like so many young ladies, inclined to be hys- 
terical on slight provocation. Giannella would not 
have recognized herself from the Professor’s descrip- 
tion. De Sanctis in his one short conversation with 
her, had satisfied himself that she was of sound mind ; 
her answers to his questions as to her childhood at 
Castel Gandolfo, her education at the convent, her 
having no friends except Signor Bianchi and Mariuc- 
cia, were given with frankness and clearness. 

Bianchi, in a subsequent interview with the lawyer, 
11 


GIANNELLA 


158 

told him that she had been much overcome by the 
revelation made to her, and suggested, in order to 
avoid any emotional scene, “ so disturbing to a man 
of business,” that he should give her the two hundred 
dollars himself and she should sign a receipt for it 
in De Sanctis’ presence without any further discus- 
sion of the subject. 

De Sanctis consented gladly. He had a horror of 
scenes, pleasant or unpleasant, and was anxious to 
save time and get the little business off his mind. The 
Professor’s reputation for parsimony had rather 
heightened than diminished the general opinion of his 
probity. It seemed fortunate for the girl that she 
should have such an upright and careful adviser. 
Nevertheless the lawyer’s bewilderment was great at 
meeting her quite a fortnight after the conclusion of 
the transaction in the same garb of decent poverty, 
the same attitude of humble domestic service in which 
he had first found her. But he reflected that there 
was no accounting for tastes — and dismissed the 
matter from his thoughts. 

So Mariuccia’s brave inventions about the Brock- 
mann relations had materialized at last. No wonder 
that the Professor’s attention was attracted to Gian- 
nella. Even Mariuccia would have appeared less for- 
bidding in his eyes had she suddenly inherited money. 
As for Giannella, he honestly wondered that he had 
never noticed before that she was young and beautiful; 
now that he had time to think of it, he remembered 
with what good-natured readiness she had waited on 
him and worked for him; something like a real affec- 


GIANNELLA 


159 


tion stirred in his heart. It began to reach out for its 
rights in comradeship and sympathy, and he permitted 
himself to look forward to the more cheerful aspects 
of advancing years which he had seen others enjoy 
but had as yet not provided for himself. If self 
was the central motive of his actions at this juncture, 
at least his feelings towards the girl were as warm 
and kind as his strange nature would permit; and he 
contemplated, as he thought, no injury to her; her 
interests would be carefully safeguarded in case of 
his dying first, and in the meantime he was doing her 
a benefit by preventing her from squandering her 
money. So quickly does self-deception do its work 
that in a few days after he made up his mind to 
marry her he had persuaded himself that he would 
have done so long ago had not common prudence 
barred the way. No man with a sense of duty would 
take a portionless bride, of course. But since that 
reproach had fallen from her, dear, pretty sweet- 
tempered Giannella would make an excellent wife and 
do him credit, since, probably on account of the regard 
felt for himself, she had received a decent education. 
She had much to thank him for, he reflected, and 
he was glad that in the recent manifesto of his in- 
tentions, so rudely received by her, he had not per- 
mitted her to forget her obligations to him. Her 
unwillingness in no way affected his calm conviction 
that he would carry his point in the end, but there was 
no time to be lost. Giannella was within a few weeks 
of her twenty-first birthday, and Bianchi, who, though 
he had no particular impatience to enter heaven, was 


i6o 


GIANNELLA 


mightily afraid of hell, knew that unless she and her 
money had been lawfully and irrevocably confined to 
his keeping before that date he must either become a 
common thief or hand over her fortune to her as 
soon as she came of age. 

And then — good-bye pretty money, good-bye pretty 
Giannella. Mariuccia and the Curato, and the honest 
gossips of the neighborhood would find a pious, honest 
young man with a fortune more or less equal to hers ; 
there would be a wedding, and confetti, and a drive 
round the Villa Borghese in a livery carriage; and the 
Professor would return to his defrauded home and 
have to watch Mariuccia court a painful death by de- 
vouring fifteen baiocchi’s worth of food a day all to 
herself. No, these wrongs must not be. The foolish 
women should know nothing of defunct Scandinavian 
uncles until the unconscious heiress was safely ticketed 
as a prudent man’s wife. Then how pleased they 
would be if he spent a few pauls of Giannella’s money 
in taking them out of a Sunday afternoon to one of 
the osterias beyond the gates where wine and mac- 
cheroni were so good and cheap ! 

But he told himself again that there was no time to 
lose if all his pleasant dreams were to be realized. 
He had not counted on the girl’s resistance; it had 
caused him a painful surprise to find that any young 
woman should be so devoid of proper feeling, should 
show such a complete lack of gratitude for past bene- 
fits and those which he now proposed to confer. Of 
course Mariuccia had much to do with it. Oppo- 
sition from her he had expected; it was not to be 


GIANNELLA 


i6i 


supposed that she would relish the idea of having to 
look upon Giannella as her mistress. The stultus 
vulgus ” was always so jealous and suspicious. And 
unfortunately Mariuccia’s was a strong character in 
a vulgar way. The kind-hearted Professor acknowl- 
edged to himself that it would cost him many struggles 
to break down the combined resistance of two ob- 
stinate women, and that discomfort would be added 
to conflict in the process, since the ordering of his 
daily life was in their hands. He must find an ally 
of their own sex, one sufficiently imposing to awe 
them into good behavior. Who so fitted to speak 
with authority as the Princess, to whom Giannella 
owed so much gratitude and respect? He would lay 
the facts — with a few insignificant reservations — 
before the great lady and beg her to intervene for the 
good of the orphan in whom she had taken such 
benevolent interest a few years ago. 

Rather resenting the necessity of wasting time over 
these details when that thrilling discovery of the 
Cardinal’s awaited his inspection, he presented him- 
self at the Princess’s door and sent in his card with 
the respectful request that her Excellency would grant 
him a short interview on a matter of great importance. 
He spent some trying moments in the visitor’s wait- 
ing-room, in uncertainty as to the result of his appli- 
cation, and was greatly relieved when informed that 
the Princess would have the pleasure of seeing him. 

Teresa Santafede was a good deal harassed at this 
time by domestic matters; she missed her faithful 
Elena Dati more every day; Onorato was distressing 


GIANNELLA 


162 

her deeply by still evading the charms and chains 
of matrimony; her health seemed breaking down, she 
began to feel old and to lose confidence in herself. 
A mistake had been made somewhere; life had proved 
unruly and would not fit into the frame she had made 
for it. Still she was alert to the call of duty, and 
never sent away any person who had a right to see 
her. This wearisome Professor evidently wanted 
something. She hoped it could be quickly and reason- 
ably granted him — ask him to walk in. 

All her sense of duty could not disarm her manner 
of a certain stiffness, the outcome of the nobles’ deep- 
seated hereditary antagonism to the middle class, the 
class which once furnished hundreds of clients to every 
great patrician and is now independent of patronage 
yet still mean, obscure, envious yet critical, nameless 
but ubiquitous, carrying on its colorless existence en- 
tirely apart from their illuminated sphere. A chasm 
of separation from her visitor was disclosed in the 
Princess’s slight, formal bow, and as Bianchi gingerly 
sat down on the edge of a chair opposite her sofa, and 
dropped his hat and gloves on the floor, his heart sank 
a little, not from any sense of inferiority — the Ro- 
mans are not snobs — but simply because the atmos- 
phere was not one of success. He was, however, con- 
scious of the justice of his cause, and after an open- 
ing speech, in which he reminded his hearer of her 
former benevolence to a certain orphan girl, unfolded 
his case with a good deal of tact and plausibility. As 
he went on, the Princess became first interested, then 
sympathetic. The undoubted benefit of such a mar- 


GIANNELLA 


163 

riage for a friendless young woman was evident. 
Suppose, said Bianchi, that he or his old servant were 
to die? In what an impossible position would Gian- 
nella find herself! Could she remain in his home 
without a respectable female’s companionship ? Could 
she, in case of his own demise (here the Princess made 
a polite gesture of deprecation), be cast on the world, 
young and attractive as she was, with gnly an aged 
peasant to protect her from its snares and temptations ? 
The Excellency must surely see that Giannella’s only 
safety lay in a respectable marriage, and the speaker’s 
good heart, yearning over the girl’s future, had 
prompted him to throw himself into the breach. 

The moment the word temptation ” sounded in 
her ears the Princess’s conscience hurled itself to the 
rescue of a soul in danger, just as the nearest surgeon 
hastens to give first aid to the victim of a street acci- 
dent. Likes or dislikes, youthful romance or aged 
prejudice, all must be swept aside to preserve the inno- 
cent and convert the sinful. Safety awaited Gian- 
nella (whose existence had for some time escaped the 
Princess’s overburdened memory) as the wife of the 
good, disinterested man who seemed to have put his 
own feelings out of the question and to be pleading 
her cause alone with fine singleness of heart. 

I see. Yes, I agree with you,” the hostess said, 
bowing slightly to show that the interview was ended. 

Send the girl to me, and let the servant accompany 
her. I will speak to Giannella alone, and will then 
have a few words with the old woman, who can only 
be acting from jealous and unworthy motives in thus 


164 


GIANNELLA 


opposing a marriage which, in spite of a trifling dif- 
ference of age, offers such advantages to that unfor- 
tunate orphan. I am not at all surprised at the serv- 
ant’s conduct. The common people are always ig- 
norant and stubborn, but they can see reason when 
it is explained to them. I have generally found our 
contadini tractable. Excuse me for mentioning such 
a thing — but I suppose there is no secret attachment, 
no foolish love affair which is causing Giannella to 
behave so strangely? That is quite impossible, is it 
not?” 

‘‘ Quite impossible, Excellency,” the Professor de- 
clared. We have brought her up most strictly, have 
never let her out of our sight. I can assure you that 
she has never spoken to a young man in her life! ” 

Had the Princess become more human with the pass- 
ing years? A gleam of amused pity touched her eyes 
and mouth ; but she replied gravely : That is as it 
should be. I shall expect her to-morrow then at ten 
o’clock. I am leaving for Santa fede at twelve and 
shall not return to Rome till October. It was fortu- 
nate, Signor Professore, that you came to-day.” Bian- 
chi bowed himself out with effusive thanks. As he 
went on his way to keep his interesting appointment 
with the Cardinal, his appearance was one of such ela- 
tion that a student who belonged to his class at the 
university laughingly pointed him out to his two com- 
panions, Rinaldo Goffl and Peppino Sacchetti. 
‘‘There goes old ‘brontolone’ (grumbler) Bianchi, 
boys,” he said, “ just look at him. I never saw him 
so happy before. He might have won a terno in the 


GIANNELLA 


165 

lottery ! But I am sure it is nothing more than a cop- 
per picked up in the street — or another mouldy old 
statue discovered in a cabbage patch. What things 
some men do stick for stars in their sky! ” 

Is that Professor Bianchi? ” asked Rinaldo, look- 
ing after the receding figure with sudden interest. 

Capperi ! He is no beauty I ” 

“ Who is, at that age ? ” laughed Peppino, and he 
began to hum, “ La gioventu e un fiore, che presto se 
ne va.” 

But Rinaldo did not laugh. A chance phrase of the 
sacristan of San Severino came back to his mind. 
“ Now that she is big and pretty, they say he means to 
marry her.” He had hardly thought of it again. 
Giannella’s eyes, Giannella’s smile, had told him that 
he had no rivals; but the insolence of the Professor’s 
pretensions suddenly kindled him to a fury of resent- 
ment. That sallow, hook-nosed, round-shouldered old 
fellow would dare to approach her, was trying to wrap 
the cobwebs of his ugly age round her sweet fresh- 
ness? For the first time in his life Renaldo felt a pas- 
sionate hatred fasten on his heart and pump the lust 
of murder through his veins. He was standing rooted 
to the spot, gazing at the entrance to Palazzo Cestal- 
dini, through which the Professor had disappeared. 

'' Come on, Nalduccio,” said Peppino, shaking him 
by the arm, “ what on earth is the matter? You look 
as if you had seen the Lupo Manaro.” 

“ I wish it would catch him,” growled Rinaldo, turn- 
ing to his friends with such an expression that they 
drew back from him in horror. “ May he and all his 


GIANNELLA 


1 66 

best dead be the werewolf’s food forever. No, I shall 
not come to the river. The sight of that antipatico 
Professor of yours has upset me. It will be more pru- 
dent to go home and take a dose of medicine than to 
go for a cold swim after such an emotion.” 

“ Is it as bad as that? ” inquired Peppino with affec- 
tionate concern. “ Povelaccio, perhaps he has the evil 
eye ? ” and he fingered the coral horn on his watch 
chain as he pronounced the fatal word. ‘‘If so, why, 
I think I will come with you. This meeting might 
bring us bad luck on the river. It is a Friday, too. 
Yes, I will go back with you, Rinaldo.” 

“ Stuff and nonsense! ” exclaimed the third member 
of the party, the irreverent student who had drawn 
attention to Bianchi ; “ I and thirty others have been 
attending his lectures for the last year, and nothing 
has happened to us. He is as ugly as hungry, and as 
tiresome as the Latin in a sermon, but as for the other 
thing, I never heard that he wa^ accused of it. What 
a couple of superstitious young donkeys you are I ” 

“ That is all very well,” retorted Peppino, “ but 
when the mere sight of a man makes such an impres- 
sion as that — are you feeling worse, Nalduccio? ” he 
inquired hastily, seeing the artist’s face screwing itself 
up into a frightful grimace — “ it is folly, even im- 
piety, to disregard it. Come along, Rinaldo, we will 
stop at the apothecary’s and get him to prescribe for 
you, and I will come and sk with you till you feel bet- 
ter.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


T he Professor had a delightful hour with Car- 
dinal Cestaldini, an hour during which personal 
preoccupations ceased to exist. The Cardinal, indeed, 
never seemed to have any of these; his bland, benevo- 
lent, well-ordered existence left no loophole for worry, 
the cipher word which expresses in five letters regrets 
for the past, irritation in the present, and anxiety con- 
cerning the future. Whatever the occupation of the 
moment might be, he came to it gladly and preparedly, 
knew that it was either obligatory or legitimate, and 
turned from it to the next without haste, without delay, 
without a jarring note in the harmonious modulations 
by which his spirit passed from key to key, from the 
inner sanctuaries of prayer and contemplation to the 
apostolic publicity of his sacredotal and hierarchical 
functions, the fulfillment of every duty as a priest and 
a prince of the Church; and again from these to the 
intellectual and artistic enjoyments which provided the 
recreation necessary to preserve the elasticity of his 
well-balanced mind. 

He enjoyed few things, in a minor way, more than 
his occasional conversations with Carlo Bianchi. 
Those were the days when the new archaeology was in 
its infancy, when the ground had been barely broken 
over the rich depths of the second Rome, although its 
more visible remains everywhere met the eye, built 
167 


GIANNELLA 


1 68 

into palace and basilica or standing up in sun-stained 
beauty of colonnade and temple, amphitheater or tri- 
umphal arch. The first Rome lay still buried, still 
undreamed of, far beneath the second, in its cerement 
of soil, so closely spaded in by time that it served to 
bear the enormous weight of the Imperial city, which 
in its turn supported Roma Terza, the Rome of the 
middle ages and the popes. And every particle of that 
fine black soil had been soaked in blood whirled by 
tempest, fused by fire; had incorporated with itself 
uncounted thousands of human bodies, falling like 
living grain in the swathe of the invader, who dropped 
into it in his turn and was gathered to his enemy, 
hate to hate, Etruscan to Latin, Latin to Roman, Ro- 
man to Barbarian, as Fortune flung the numbers from 
her ever blood-bright wheel. 

Perhaps some prophetic thrill of discovery was in the 
air already when Carlo Bianchi came to examine and 
discuss the Cardinal’s fragment of inscription that sul- 
try July afternoon. The strangely archaic lettering, 
the almost unintelligible elementariness of the few 
Latin words, threw the two interpreters of antiquity 
into a state of excitement most unusual to both of 
them. Their hearts warmed to this mutilated ancestor 
of history, separated from all catalogued relics by 
some great chasm of time; the Cardinal smiled like 
a boy and fingered the pitted stone as if it had been a 
flower; the Professor’s hands trembled so that he had 
to take three rubbings before he could get a satisfac- 
tory impression of the treasure. Could they but find 
the rest ! What might it not reveal ! Ah, it might be 


GIANNELLA 


169 


far away, if not already ground to powder or built 
into the foundations of some ponderous mausoleum. 
Well, they could but search. The Professor, forgetful 
of all else, was for descending then and there to the 
vast vaults which lay beneath the palace; remains of 
huge nameless ruins which had been utilized as foun- 
dations for a fortress in mediaeval times, a stronghold 
which had in its turn been shorn away and its materials 
built into the stately Renaissance dwelling erected by 
one of the Cardinal's ancestors to mark the accession 
of his family to power. 

Let me descend to this fortunate Avernus at once, 
Eminenza," Bianchi pleaded. “ Who knows but that 
the workmen in their ignorance may destroy that 
which we so desire to find ? " 

“ No, amico," replied the prelate, “ there is no fear 
of that. All work was stopped at once when the fore- 
man brought this to me, as he does every fragment 
of marble which is turned up by his men. They have 
gone away now. I would not have another spade 
struck into the earth until I should have consulted 
you. But you must not visit the place now; it is al- 
ways damp, and especially unsafe at this hour, after 
the heat of the day. The chill would strike to the 
bone — would you invite an ague? No, if you will 
favor me by coming in the morning, having fortified 
yourself with a little quinine, and, speaking with re- 
spect, with a flannel vest, I will perhaps be so selfish 
as to accept your kind offer, though I shall appear to 
you as a coward, for I have caught a slight cold and 
dare not run the risk of accompanying you. It is like 


170 


GIANNELLA 


stepping into a cold bath. Indeed, much as I wish 
to discover more, my conscience tells me that you 
would do better to trust Michele, the foreman, who is 
most obedient and intelligent, to go carefully over the 
ground himself, to a permitted depth. Every atom 
of stone could be brought here for your inspection. 
We should lose nothing, I am sure.” 

The Cardinal spoke with all the emphasis he could 
muster, but there was a wistful entreaty in his eyes, in 
the very tones of his voice, as if he were unselfishly 
imploring some hero of romance not to lead a forlorn 
hope to the rescue of one dear to him. 

The Professor, carried out of himself by true en- 
thusiasm, was about to reply that nothing should deter 
him from personally continuing the search the follow- 
ing morning, when an old servant stole into the room 
and stood waiting beside his master’s chair for per- 
mission to speak. 

‘‘ What is it, , Domenico ? ” the Cardinal inquired, 
looking up at him with a friendly smile. 

Eminenza,” the man replied, “ the avvocato De 
Sanctis is here. He says that he has brought the pa- 
pers of the Ariccia property. If the Eminenza would 
condescend to sign them this evening he could go out 
and conclude the affair to-morrow. But if it is in- 
convenient — ” 

'‘Not at all!” replied the master. "Ask him to 
come in. A busy man like that must not be made to 
lose his time.” Then, as the servant retired, he turned 
to Bianchi with gentle apology. " You will pardon 
the interruption, my friend? The business will occu- 


GIANNELLA 


I/I 

py but a few moments. De Sanctis — but what is the 
matter ? Are you indisposed ? ” 

The Professor had risen unsteadily to his feet, at 
the same time turning sickly pale. De Sanctis ! The 
last person he wished to meet or to have reminded 
of his existence till after the little ceremony which 
was to take place in three weeks! Distractedly he 
looked towards the door. He must fly — but he 
would be flying into the lawyer’s arms. Well, bet- 
ter do that, and rush past him, than risk any polite 
inquiry as to how the excitable Signorina Brockmann 
was enjoying spending her abundant pocket money. 
There would be explanations — why keep such a pret- 
ty story a secret? The Cardinal would see his sister 
before long and would rally her on the fine good luck 
of her old protegee; and if the Princess came to know 
of that, after his own high-sounding protestations of 
disinterestedness that very afternoon — heavens, what 
a feast for carrion crows would the corpse of Carlo 
Bianchi’s reputation become ! The mere thought made 
him^'feel cold and sick. 

I must beg your Eminence to excuse me,” he 
found voice to stammer, a slight indisposition — 
pray incommode no one,” for the Cardinal’s hand 
was on his bell; “it will pass in the open air. With 
permission of the Eminenza I remove the inconven- 
ience of my presence.” 

Scarcely waiting to hear his host’s expressions of 
regret, he hurried from the room just in time to 
brush past De Sanctis, with averted face, in the cur- 
tained shadow of the next deep doorway. How he 


172 


GIANNELLA 


prayed that the sharp-eyed young man might not rec- 
ognize him, might not, remembering the facts, enter- 
tain the kindhearted Cardinal with the story of a poor 
orphan, once the beneficiary of his noble sister’s char- 
ity, who had, in the twinkling of an eye, become quite 
a little heiress in a modest way. 

De Sanctis, intent on accomplishing his business, 
paid small attention to the outgoing visitor. When he 
had kissed the Cardinal’s ring, and was preparing to 
spread his documents on the table, he carelessly 
pushed aside the three-cornered fragment of marble 
which was so precious in the eyes of the prelate. 

Take care, Guglielmo,” cried the latter, putting 
out both hands to save his treasure, that stone is 
more valuable to me than all the Ariccia property.” 

‘‘ Pardon my blindness, Eminenza,” said De Sanctis. 
‘‘ Is this a new gem to add to the great collection ? ” 
There was a touch of amusement in his tone which 
jarred on the Cardinal’s ear. 

“ You could not be expected to appreciate its value,” 
he replied with gentle dignity ; “ that is for specialists 
like myself and Professor Bianchi. He suspects that 
it antedates all existing inscriptions by at least three 
hundred years. An account of it will appear in next 
month’s Archer ological Review” He wrapped the 
thing in a red silk handkerchief and signed to De 
Sanctis to deposit it on another table. 

The lawyer obeyed in respectful silence; then he 
dipped the pen in the ink, handed it to his employer, 
shook the sand over the delicate pointed signatures 
on the three sheets and laid them together. 


GIANNELLA 


173 


The Cardinal looked up at him with a little smile, 
saying, “ You are very quiet to-day, my son. Did I 
reproach you too sharply for not sharing my little 
enthusiasms? You must forgive me. We old fel- 
lows are apt to grow querulous, you know.” 

‘‘But, Eminenza, what an idea ! ” exclaimed De 
Sanctis in shocked protest. “ No indeed. I fear my 
mind had wandered from the matter in hand. The 
mention of Professor Bianchi had set me thinking. I 
apologize for my bad manners.” 

“You know the Professor?” the Cardinal asked. 
“ Ah, I have a great respect for him. Such deep 
learning and such simple modesty of character are 
rarely met with.” 

De Sanctis bowed in acquiescence. “ I have only 
the honor of a slight acquaintance with him,” he re- 
plied, “ but doubtless your Eminence’s discernment is 
not mistaken. Indeed I believe he hardly meets his 
due, in general, for public opinion accuses him of av- 
arice — and I have caught him, red-handed, in a long- 
continued work of charity.” 

The Cardinal’s eyes shone with the light of that 
lovely virtue and he leaned forward eagerly. “ But 
this is delightful,” he said, “ tell me all about it. How 
consoling it is to hear of good deeds done in secret ! ” 

“ I will relate the facts with pleasure, Eminenza,” 
the other answered. “ Since they only redound to 
Professor Bianchi’s credit, I think I shall not be 
guilty of any betrayal of confidence in doing so.” 
And then he told the story of how a forsaken child 

had been cared for during her infancy by a kind- 
12 


174 


GIANNELLA 


hearted gentleman; how when the burden became too 
heavy for him, the listener’s most excellent sister had 
sent the child to school for nine years ; how at the end 
of that time she had returned to the archaeologist, who 
had received her as his own daughter (De Sanctis was 
convinced the Professor’s daughter would have had 
to work quite as hard as Giannella, and he was merely 
repeating the facts as he had learned them from Bian- 
chi himself) ; how Bianchi had kept her under his 
roof ever since, shielding her from all care and temp- 
tation ; how the girl had unexpectedly inherited a com- 
petency which in her rank of life entitled her to make 
a good marriage — and how happy all this had made 
her benefactor. All that was wanting now was the 
appearance of a good, suitable young man to complete 
the family circle. 

The Cardinal had completely forgotten his own in- 
tervention in the matter of Giannella’s education and 
his defense . of Bianchi from Fra Tommaso’s re- 
proaches at that time; he had received and attended 
to several scores of like applications in the last fourteen 
years, and never gave such things another thought 
when his part was done, so he beamed approbation at 
the lawyer’s narrative. Many sad stories, he said, 
came to his ears, but few such encouraging ones. Did 
the Princess know of it? If not, he would give him- 
self the pleasure of telling her; and as for the good 
young man — he laid his hand for a moment on that 
of De Sanctis — if the girl was sweet and virtuous, 
why should she not make the right wife for him? It 


GIANNELLA 


175 


was time he chose a partner for life. His own cir- 
cumstances were prosperous, his future assured; and 
a good Christian wife would be a great comfort and 
assistance to him. The Cardinal believed in the wis- 
dom of fairly early marriages, and De Sanctis, who 
had his own views on the subject, had to listen sub- 
missively to a discourse full of eloquence and sweet- 
ness on the benefits accruing to society and the indi- 
vidual from the experience and example of a Christian 
union. 

“ Your Eminence rates me too high,” he said, when 
at last he could interrupt the persuasive periods. I 
am a poor selfish devil, set on rising in my profession, 
and I have come to the conclusion that I can do that 
best as a bachelor. Indeed I am not sure that a law- 
yer has much more right to get married than a priest.” 

‘‘And why not?” inquired the Cardinal, rather 
shocked at this unconventional proposition. 

“ Because,” De Sanctis replied with his sardonic lit- 
tle smile, “ he acts as a kind of father confessor to 
the public. And though the public is quite ready to 
confide its innocent little secrets to him, it does not 
care about having them shared with his pretty wife, 
who is sure to be as curious as Eve and as talkative as 
a parrot. No, Eminenza, I cannot afford to take on 
such a responsibility just yet. Eve was doubtless a 
great comfort and pleasure to Adam in Paradise — 
but she never rested till she got him turned out. She 
must have been more than woman if she did not re- 
proach him for the catastrophe afterwards — and he 


176 


GIANNELLA 


must have been more than man if he did not frequently 
wish that he had been allowed to enjoy a peaceful 
existence alone/’ 

The Cardinal was laughing now, but his sermon was 
not ended. ‘‘ You are incorrigible, my son,” he said, 
but your fine philosophy will go to pieces when you 
find yourself old and lonely and miserably rich — with 
no child to inherit your money, no one to care whether 
you are ill or well, alive or dead. Then you will have 
to follow Professor Bianchi’s example and adopt an 
orphan on whom to expend your natural goodness of 
heart. However, I forgive your recalcitrancy this 
time, for the sake of the charming story you told me. 
Good-bye — take care of yourself when you go into 
the country to-morrow. The weather is ‘ bisbetico ’ 
— capricious just now. I fancy the rains are at hand. 
Arrivederci.” 

‘‘ It was a pretty story,” De Sanctis said to himself 
as he walked home through the darkening streets 
where the few oil lamps were winking bravely under 
the onslaughts of the hot, moist wind, the scirocco that 
caresses at one moment and sears in the next. “ It 
was certainly a pretty story and I told it to that saintly 
man just as it was told to me. But — oh, you are a 
sad liar, Guglielmo mio,” and he tapped his own fore- 
head reproachfully, “ for you know that in your heart 
you don’t believe a word of it — the Professor’s part 
of it at least. When the wolf divides its food with the 
lamb, then we can begin to talk about such a phenom- 


GIANNELLA 


177 

enon. Diamini, here is the rain — and I have forgot- 
ten my umbrella/’ 

The Professor returned to his home less gaily than 
he had quitted it. He seemed to have little appetite 
for his supper ; Mariuccia heard him go out for a short 
time afterwards, and when he returned soon after ten, 
he seemed more cheerful, but still looked pale and 
tired. ‘‘ He has caught another chill,” she mournfully 
told herself, “ I let him go out too soon, stupid crea- 
ture that I was. Oh, San Giuseppe mio, are these 
troubles never to finish ? ” 

Bianchi had had a critical question to settle. Was 
it — or was it not — safe to send Giannella to the 
Princess? He had little doubt that the latter would 
gain his point for him with the girl; Giannella had 
till now been singularly amenable to authority. Now 
that it seemed necessary to analyze it, her tempera- 
ment, he decided, was a cold one; all northerners 
were like that; difficult to rouse, too sluggish to fight 
long, though tiresomely obstinate when some prejudice 
was in question. This was the first time she had ever 
attempted to oppose her will to that of her elders; it 
was a whim; it would pass. The scirocco had been 
blowing for several days — that probably accounted 
for it. Yes, she had always been a docile little thing, 
giving no trouble at all; he had no fear of the upshot 
if the Princess spoke to her as, a few hours since, she 
had promised to speak. But there was that one small 
but hideous possibility that De Sanctis — an apoplexy 
to him — might have told the Cardinal of Giannella’s 


178 


GIANNELLA 


good luck, and that the Cardinal, in some caprice of 
amused benevolence, might, before to-morrow morn- 
ing, have related the same to his sister. He some- 
times paid her a visit in prima sera,” the early even- 
ing, always reserved for intimates; and some demon 
might prompt him to come to-night to wish her a pleas- 
ant journey to the country. All these possibilities 
were of the slightest kind, yet the mere shadow of 
them was desperately disturbing. If none of them 
became facts, all would go smoothly. To-morrow the 
Princess would depart for her annual villeggiatura at 
Santa fede, forty miles away to the north, and when 
she returned in October she and her brother would 
have forgotten all about Giannella Brockmann’s un- 
important destinies, and, if they should ever hear or 
think of her, would never raise the question of whether 
it was before or after the twenty-fifth of July that she 
had inherited the forty thousand scudi which would 
seem a trifle to personages like them, but the mere pos- 
session of which would bring joy unspeakable to poor 
unobtrusive Carlo Bianchi. 

So he walked up and down his room in a fever of 
suspense, looking out of his window every moment to 
see if the Cardinal’s carriage were coming up the street 
from the Ripetta; then he would turn and look at the 
clock. If once the hands touched ten and the Car- 
dinal had not come, he knew that he was safe. It 
wanted twenty minutes yet of that magic hour. Ah, 
there was a rumble of wheels. Again he was at the 
window, peering down at something going by, a heavy 
carriage apparently. He cursed his short sight, and 


GIANNELLA 


179 


the wretchedly dim light below, for he could not make 
out the details. As the vehicle turned the corner and 
disappeared into the piazza his heart stood still and a 
sudden rage possessed him. He must know if that 
carriage had entered the porte cochere, if it belonged 
to the Cardinal. 

He snatched up his hat and cloak and went down- 
stairs as rapidly as he dared, for the lights were few 
and the stone steps damp and slippery from the sciroc- 
co. At last he was safely out under the colonnade. 
Heaven be praised, the courtyard was empty. No 
hearse-like vehicle was standing at the far end waiting 
for its occupant. He walked the length of the colon- 
nade and made sure that it was not under shelter at 
the entrance to the Princess’s apartment. As he 
reached the spot, the clock in the porter’s lodge struck 
ten, and the man came out, yawning, to close the 
great doors for the night. No music had ever sounded 
sweeter in the Professor’s ears than those thin metallic 
strokes ; the fat porter in his shirt sleeves running the 
bolts home in their stanchions was a bright, beneficent 
being shutting the demons of ill-luck out into the dark- 
ness. Glad at heart, at peace with all the world. Carlo 
Bianchi climbed the long stairs and regained his room. 
Now indeed he could go to sleep. 


CHAPTER XIV 


G IANNELLA was amazed at learning the next 
morning that she and Mariuccia were to wait on 
the Princess at ten o'clock. Bianchi called her into 
the study to give her the message, without any ex- 
planation or comment. Mariuccia had followed her 
to the door and listened attentively at the keyhole, so 
she had little to learn when the girl came out, grasped 
her arm excitedly, and dragged her back to the kitchen. 
There they stood and stared at one another in dumb 
perplexity. Mariuccia threw up her hands at last and 
turned away, as if giving the problem up. 

Then Giannella broke out in agitated whispers: 
“ What does it mean ? She forgets all about us for 
three years at least — and now, just as she is going 
away, we are to be sure to go to her at ten o’clock. 
It must be something very extraordinary. Every- 
thing is in a bustle down there ; they were packing the 
traveling carriages already when I went out to Mass. 
What can she want of us ? ” 

“ Better ask Pasquino,” ^ Mariuccia replied with a 

^The mutilated statue which served as a gazette of public 
opinion. All lampoons, caricatures, etc. were pasted on the 
pedestal in the night, and there was generally a little crowd 
gathered round it in the morning. The questions were affixed 
to another torso called Marforio, near by, and “ Pasquino ” dis- 
played the answers. 

i8o 


GIANNELLA 


i8i 


toss of the head, “ I don’t know. Perhaps the Prin- 
cess means to take you to the country with her.” 

‘‘ That is very likely, is it not? ” retorted Giannella, 
her eyes flashing with sudden wrath, after banishing 
me from her presence — for nothing — all these years ! 

I wish she had left me alone in the beginning. Why 
didn’t you all let me be a servant, earning my living 
like other girls, poor like me, and not made miserable 
by being educated above their wretched station in life? 
What good did the reading and writing, the designing 
and embroidery, ever do me? Here I am, a grown 
woman, still as dependent as a baby or an idiot. No, 

I am not grateful to the Princess. If she began, she 
should have finished. I could do for her what dear 
Signora Dati, of good memory, did — I could write 
her letters and save her many steps, many annoyances 
— I could have been useful to her or some other lady. 
That was what Signora Dati meant for me — she told 
me so once. But no. The Princess takes a dislike to 
me, and I am dropped out of sight. I would not take 
one step for her now. I will not go down this morn- 
ing.” 

By this time Giannella’s cheeks were flaming and 
tears of anger were brimming in her eyes. She stood, 
tense and panting, her hands behind her, the incarna- 
tion of sudden revolt. Mariuccia was appalled. 
The revelation of slow secret suffering would have 
grieved her to the heart at any other time, but now it 
was swallowed up in horror at the audacity of the 
girl’s declaration. Not obey the commands of a Ces- 
taldini, of Mariuccia’s own Princess, the greatest per- 


GIANNELLA 


182 

sonage in her world except the Holy Father himself! 
And then, this outburst of black ingratitude, why, it 
was like Lucifer rebelling against the Divine man- 
dates I The stern old peasant felt that she must con- 
quer this demon of insurrection on the spot. She 
came and put both her hands on Giannella’s shoulders 
and looked her straight in the eyes. The hands felt 
heavy as flatirons, but the girl stiffened her shoulders 
under their weight, and the gray eyes were bright 
and burning, for all the tears, as they met the angry 
black ones. 

You sometimes say that I have been like a mother 
to you,” Mariuccia began, her deep masculine tones 
rumbling like approaching thunder. ‘‘ Do you know 
what I would do if I were really your mother? For 
all that you are long and large, I would take that little 
stick over there,” she pointed to a broomstick in the 
corner, and give you a beating you would never 
forget. That is how we teach obedience and respect 
in the Castelli. But because you are not my child — 
though God knows I have loved you as if you were — ” 
The voice choked and a dimness came over the old eyes 
that still never flinched from their steady, reproachful 
gaze. 

Then Giannella’s arms were flung round her neck, 
and the golden head was buried on her shoulder, and 
the young heart was weeping out its storm of love and 
sorrow and remorse against the old one. 

Mariuccia mia,” she sobbed, “ you have been an 
angei to me, and I am a wretch, an ingrate, but I love 
you. It was not true, not a single word. I will do 


GIANNELLA 


183 

anything you wish, anything — even go down to the 
Princess.” 

“ What are you about, you females ? ” cried a sharp 
voice in the passage. “ Do you know that it is half- 
past nine? Make haste and get ready to go to her 
Excellency.” Then the study door was slammed im- 
patiently. Evidently the master was not in a good 
temper this morning. 

When the two women presented themselves at the 
Princess’s door at five minutes to ten, Giannella was 
led away alone, and Mariuccia, much against her will, 
left to wait in the anteroom. All Giannella’s rage had 
evaporated by this time and the old awe, the sense of 
being dominated by greater powers, stole over her as 
she followed the attendant through the series of re- 
membered rooms, silent and splendid, darkened to 
keep out the heat, and pleasantly cool compared with 
the burning air of the courtyard outside. She recalled 
her first childish impression that the place must be a 
church; then, sooner than she expected it, she found 
herself standing before the Princess in the same old 
attitude of frightened submission. She knew that 
she would do whatever was required of her if the 
regal black-robed woman in the great chair by the 
table had any commands to issue. She had no par- 
ticular curiosity now as to what they might prove 
to be; she only felt the oppressive weight of authority 
made visible. 

But the command, when it came, gave her a most 
disagreeable shock. The Princess, with the gravity 
of a judge summing up the case against a prisoner. 


184 


GIANNELLA 


opened her discourse by stating the facts. An hon- 
orable proposal had been made to Giannella by the 
kind and upright gentleman to whom she already owed 
so much, and the judge was grieved to learn that it 
had been met in a most unsuitable spirit. No opening 
was given to the prisoner in which to express any pri- 
vate opinion, no loophole in the argument permitted es- 
cape from the logical conclusion — namely, that a 
young girl alone in the world was committing a great 
sin in refusing the protection of a Christian husband. 
Such a course could only point to one thing, an innate 
levity of character (the Princess, remembering her for- 
mer apprehensions about Onorato, looked sternly con- 
demnatory as she said this), a levity which, unchecked, 
must end in a disastrous downward career. She spoke 
of the horrible temptations to which needy and unpro- 
tected young women are. exposed, warned her listener 
of the abominable designs harbored by men who tried 
to make poor girls believe that they admired them; 
contrasted Signor Bianchi’s honorable behavior with 
that of such base deceivers ; and finally asked Giannella 
to contemplate the picture of her own destiny should 
the Professor,, justly incensed at her ingratitude, refuse 
her in future the shelter of his roof. 

The speaker felt that this was not a time to mince 
matters, and she made her meaning so cruelly clear, 
that Giannella, who had never had her attention drawn 
to the degraded aspects of human nature, was over- 
whelmed with shame and horror, and found it impos- 
sible to control the flood of tears which rose to her 
eyes. The Princess, seeing that she had gained her 


GIANNELLA 


185 


point with the girl, sent for Mariuccia, who had been 
fuming in the anteroom for three-quarters of an hour. 
When she made her appearance, Giannella was stand- 
ing beside the big chair, still weeping bitterly ; the Prin- 
cess was holding her hand quite kindly. The prisoner 
had repented, and was now to be forgiven in form. 

‘‘ There is nothing to cry about now, my child,” the 
judge was saying; “you are naturally sorry for hav- 
ing shown yourself so ungrateful and unamiable to the 
good man who has done so much for you and only asks 
to do more. But now you understand things better — 
how exceedingly fortunate it is for you, who have no 
relations and no dowry, to find an honest Christian 
husband to protect you from the dangers I have been 
describing and which would certainly assail you if you 
were left alone in the world. Now go home and tell 
Signor Bianchi that you will do your best to be a 
good wife to him. Believe me, respect is a better 
foundation for happiness in matrimony than any senti- 
mental affection such as young people sometimes per- 
mit themselves to dream of. Heaven will grant you 
the necessary graces for fulfilling your duty in the mar- 
ried state ; and here is a little present ” — the Princess 
picked up a closed envelope from the table and put it 
into Giannella’s hand — “ with which you can buy your 
wedding dress — you had better get a black silk, it 
will be useful to you afterwards. Now wait outside 
while I speak with this good woman a moment.” 

Giannella, too much overcome to say a word, kissed 
the extended hand and withdrew to digest her misery 
in the outer room while Mariuccia should receive her 


GIANNELLA 


i86 

own particular scolding. Giannella’s world had slipped 
from under her feet. Even her trust in Rinaldo was 
shaken. As for speaking of him — her adored, beau- 
tiful Rinaldo — to the terrible Princess — she felt 
that it would have been easier and quite as useful to 
jump out of the window. Perhaps he was in reality 
like the wicked men of whose existence she had shud- 
deringly learned; but that was hard to believe. Only 
that morning he had looked at her with such a light 
of* truth in his dark eyes, had told her so joyfully 
about the big picture — and then, with such poignant 
regret, that the purchaser was leaving in a few days 
and insisted on its being completed, so that every 
moment of daylight must go to it, and Rinaldo feared 
he could not even come to Mass till next Sunday. 
Would Giannella remember to pray for him till then? 
He would be needing it so badly. And Giannella had 
laughingly replied that the next day was Sunday, when 
he must certainly come and pray for himself. And 
on that they had shaken hands for the first time. It 
was like sealing a compact. And when his fingers 
touched hers he had opened his lips as if to speak — 
and had kept back the words with an evident effort. 
Oh, she knew what they would have been. But of 
course he was too honorable to let them pass his lips 
before he had Mariuccia’s sanction. Did Mariuccia 
dream of anything? Was it possible that she was 
even now making out some kind of a case for her 
wretched Giannella against the plausible, desirable, un- 
endurable Professor? What a time she was in there! 
And then the door opened and Mariuccia came towards 


GIANNELLA 


187 


her with averted eyes and a silent shake of the head, 
and Giannella saw that all was lost. Her only ally 
had succumbed, like herself. Who were they, poor 
women of the people, to argue or reason with authority 
in high places? 

They returned home silently, Giannella too sick at 
heart to discuss the sentence which destiny seemed to 
have passed upon her, and Mariuccia so angry with 
everything and everybody that she was ferociously 
sulky all day. The Professor wisely stayed away till 
the evening, so as to give the Princess’s admonitions 
time to sink in. When he came back for supper, ex- 
pecting to find Giannella all submission and repentance, 
he was curtly informed that she was not well and 
had been sent to bed. And Mariuccia would not tell 
him a single word of what had taken place at the in- 
terview of the morning. What was more, he caught a 
glimpse of a magnificent pile of fruit and vegetables on 
the kitchen table (one of Rinaldo’s now constant send- 
ings from the vigna), and when his tray appeared it 
was disappointingly empty of what he considered his 
dues of the bounties which his servant’s relatives 
seemed to have been sending her of late with such 
praiseworthy generosity. This symptom appeared to 
him most ominous. It could only indicate a most 
unusual state of things and pointed clearly to open 
revolt. Well, with the Princess away the worst dan- 
ger had passed; he argued only good from Giannella’s 
indisposition; she was preparing to meet him in the 
right spirit, and a few hours must be granted her in 
which to accustom her mind to the new dispensation. 


GIANNELLA 


i88 

Now for the article on the Cardinal’s inestimable 
fragment. 

Giannella herself could scarcely have catalogued her 
thoughts as she sat the next morning at the window of 
the workroom ; she only knew that she wished to keep 
out of the padrone’s way and that to this inner fortress 
he never ventured to penetrate. She had a headache 
and a heartache and felt quite ill enough to justify 
Mariuccia’s statement. She almost hoped, with the 
delightful audacity of youth, that she was going to die. 
That appeared to be the shortest and most becoming 
way out of her troubles. 

Just as she had reached this conclusion there was a 
shadow of wings on the window ledge, and then 
Themistocles alighted there, his head on one side and 
an alluring air of hope and mystery in his bearing. 
Giannella reached down for the little basket of grain 
which always stood under the work-table, and when 
she raised her head again the pigeon hopped in and 
began to peck from her hand. Suddenly she gave a 
little cry and leaned over to look closer. There was 
a bit of ribbon under the collar round his neck, and, 
peeping out from beneath one wing, a minute fold of 
paper. He had brought her a message from Rinaldo ! 
With trembling fingers she untied the ribbon, and 
drew forth from its plumed resting-place a three-cor- 
nered note, which she opened in a tumult of happiness. 
The color flushed up to her temples and her eyes shone 
when she found a leaf of verbena pasted to the paper, 
and two words written beneath, Amicizia eterna.” 

Eternal friendship! That was all he had dared to 


GIANNELLA 


189 


say, but how much it meant. Love in the respectful 
dress of friendship — that meant eternal love. Gian- 
nella raised the little leaf to her cheek, smelt its delicate 
perfume, brought it to her lips and kissed it once, 
twice, a dozen times. Its fragrance seemed to speak 
of all happy things, it gave her back her courage, her 
buoyancy, her very life. Should she answer? Ah 
no, that would be too bold ; besides, there was no word 
in her vocabulary that would express the delicate 
ecstacy that filled her heart. Yet she would send some- 
thing — a leaf of the rose geranium there, sweet as 
the verbena itself, and meaning, as she remembered 
from old sentimental friendships at the convent, “ Con- 
stancy under suffering.” There was nothing unmaid- 
enly in that. 

Her nimble fingers, still so white and fine, gathered 
the leaf, folded it in thin paper, and attached it to the 
ribbon. Themistocles was busily engaged on the In- 
dian corn when she tied it on. Having picked up the 
last grain he perched for a moment on the window 
ledge, glanced this way and that, then flung himself 
off into the quivering sunshot blue of the noon, rose, 
and flew steadily away over the monastery roof. 

‘‘ You make me a liar ! ” exclaimed Mariuccia, com- 
ing in a few minutes later and looking at the suddenly 
recovered invalid with delighted astonishment. I 
told the padrone you were ill.” 

‘‘ So I am,” replied Giannella, laughing for joy, 
too ill to see him to-day. Oh, Mariuccia, if you love 
me just a little let me stay in here. I cannot wait on 

the padrone this morning.” 

13 


190 


GIANNELLA 


Rest easy, figlia mia, you shall not,’’ the old woman 
promised. “ I told him you were hot and cold, and 
consumed with fever. You looked like that an hour 
or two ago, so I shall not get a sore tongue this 
time.” 

It is all true,” cried Giannella, '' I burn with fever 
— but it is a good fever. I feel happy — I want to 
sing.” 

“ Better so,” growled the other; since it seems you 
must marry him, I am glad you are pleased. It is 
another thing for me. I cannot say that I am. What 
has made you change your mind so suddenly? Are 
you thinking of the silk dress and the confetti ? ” 

All the color left Giannella’s face and she gave a 
little cry. ‘‘ Madonna mia buona, I had forgotten ! 
Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do? ” And she 
covered her eyes with her hands and rocked herself in 
her chair. She had forgotten — for a few happy mo- 
ments — all that had gone before — the Princess’s 
manifesto, her own conviction while listening to it 
that there could be no right action in opposition to so 
much sense and piety — her remorse for her own 
selfishness and willfulness, the perception of the duty 
which stood unbendingly before her. 

She rose and paced the narrow room, all her senses 
at war. Who could help her? Who would tell her 
which was right and to be obeyed — her own intense 
repulsion for Bianchi, strengthened a thousandfold by 
the upspringing of the new love, the first love, all un- 
baptized as yet, but drawing her with every chord 
of the spirit, every fiber of the flesh, to her natural 


GIANNELLA 


191 

mate? or the fiat of those whom God had placed in 
authority over her, the Princess, the Professor? She 
thought of taking her case to her confessor. Padre 
Anselmo, over there at San Severino; but how could 
she lay it honestly before the dim-eyed old saint, who 
seemed already to be hovering so far above earth that 
he could only see things from above, as the angels 
see them? How could she bare her heart to him, 
confess that it had become a shrine of glory where a 
thousand love lamps burned round one worshiped 
picture, the picture of a man she had known but a 
few weeks and who had spoken no word to her or 
to her natural guardians to show that he meant to ask 
her in marriage? 

She felt that she should die of shame if she had to 
tell that, for who would ever understand? In days 
gone by, before she had seen love’s face, she had 
listened, first hopefully and then despondingly, to 
Mariuccia’s prophecies about the good young husband 
who would come to seek for her. Then, marriage, had 
presented itself as a mere change of state, very slightly 
connected with the shadowy wooer. She had never 
read a novel, never spoken with a person in love ; the 
relations of husband and wife had been wrapped for 
her in the impenetrable veil so strongly insisted on in 
the Castelli, where girls at that time grew up to woman- 
hood believing what their mothers told them — that 
the mere breath of man, a kiss or even a sigh, was all 
that was needed to make a maid a mother. Trusting 
to this complete impersonality of the married relation, 
it might have been possible for the Giannella of three 


192 


GIANNELLA 


months earlier to bow her pretty head to fate and 
accept even Carlo Bianchi as a husband, had authority 
voiced its mandate then ; but now, now the new music, 
new yet tenderly familiar, was sounding in her ears; 
life lay before her like an unblown rose that every hour 
of sunshine was kissing into bloom; a new Giannella 
had been born, and her every heart-beat cried aloud, 
“ I will live, I will live.” 


CHAPTER XV 


F or two days Rinaldo adhered to his resolution 
of spending all the daylight hours at his easel, 
but by the third morning his depression was so great 
that he resolved to resume the good habit of going to 
early Mass. He had made one or two trespassing ex- 
cursions to Fra Tommaso’s loggia in the hope of 
catching a glimpse of Giannella at her window ; but her 
place was empty and there was a strange air of dead- 
ness, of unnatural orderliness about the few details 
of the room which came within his line of vision. At 
once a thousand fears assailed him. Was she ill? 
Had she gone away? Had his diffident little greeting 
brought trouble upon her ? He had been wildly happy 
over her mute answer to it, but now he began to pon- 
der as to whether it had not some hidden meaning 
which he, unversed in flower language, had perhaps 
not understood. He must And out at once. Very 
likely Sora Amalia could tell him. Women set store 
by these pretty mysteries, and although he could 
hardly imagine the stout mistress of the dairy as send- 
ing a love letter in flowers to its red-faced master, yet 
she had been young once, and probably very senti- 
mental. He had heard that sentimental people were 
usually inclined to grow fat. He would run down 
and ask her, very guardedly of course, whether she 
could help him. And then he might get some tid- 

193 


194 


GIANNELLA 


ings of Giannella; she and Mariuccia called there al- 
most every day for one thing or another. 

So when evening drew on and the sun was sinking, 
a ball of smoldering fire, behind heavy clouds in the 
west, Rinaldo said good-night to the pink-cheeked 
cardinal and descended to the shop, where darkness 
would have reigned already but for one smoky lamp. 
The heat inside was suffocating, and Sora Amalia, as 
she put things in order for the night, mopped her 
heated face with the corner of a long-suffering apron 
which seemed to have been applied to many and alien 
uses during the day. The good woman brightened 
up at the sight of a customer so late and bustled about 
joyfully to get the eggs and cheese which Rinaldo 
made the pretext for his visit. 

‘‘ The signorino does his own cooking ? ’’ she in- 
quired ; that must be a great trouble. It is all to his 
advantage in one way, of course, since he would never 
get such miraculously fresh stuff as this at a trattoria. 
But it must make many steps, much work — and in 
this hot weather too.’’ 

‘‘ It saves me four hot walks a day,” Rinaldo replied, 
“ and also much money. Those trattori are all 
brigands. They have an art, most diabolical, of dress- 
ing up coarse food in disguising sauces and giving it 
grand names. It is like a veglione in carnival — you 
never know what is really under the mask. I am sure 
I have many a time eaten goat’s flesh and paid for 
lamb.” 

‘‘Of course you have,” said Sora Amalia sympa- 


GIANNELLA 


195 


thetically. ‘‘ Poverino ! What you want is a nice 
clever little wife to see to things for you. Has your 
good Signora Mamma not chosen one for you yet ? ” 
‘‘ My Signora Mamma is a long way off,” Rinaldo 
answered, “ and, to tell you a secret, I mean to choose 
a wife for myself. How does one go about it, Sora 
Amalia? I am shy, and dreadfully afraid of making 
some young lady very angry by my stupidity. How 
did Sor Augusto begin when he wanted to make love 
to you ? ” 

Sora Amalia crossed her arms over her ample bosom 
and meditated for a moment. I am trying to re- 
member,” she said ; “ ah yes — he was in the pork 
trade in those days, and he sent me a paper of sausages. 
They were a cream ! I ate them all, and, capperi, but I 
was ill afterwards ! ” She chuckled at the recollection. 

This was a long way off from the language of flow- 
ers. Rinaldo tried another opening. How sweet 
your carnations smell,” he remarked, pulling one out 
of the glass and dangling it before his nose. Garo- 
foli — what does the name mean, I wonder ? ” 

Married happiness,” she replied promptly. “ Are 
you looking for numbers to play in the lotto ? ” 

He caught at the idea. Why yes, that is just 
what I do want. I thought of a little ambo for next 
Saturday.” 

Benone, here is the book,” and she pulled a ragged 
volume out from under the counter and held it close to 
the light. I will find them for you. Here is the 
place. Garofolo, 81, you had better write it down.” 


196 


GIANNELLA 


Rinaldo gravely produced a pencil and scribbled on 
his cuff. “ Now,” she went on, '' what is the second 
object? ” 

‘‘ I will have another flower,” he said, ‘‘ a geranium 
leaf blew on to my loggia this morning. Can you find 
the number for that ? ” 

‘‘ Oh yes, here it is on the same page — geranium, 
29 — odd numbers both. You will draw something, 
signorino.” 

That which is to be, will be,” he replied, “ but has 
this one a bad meaning? That might bring me ill- 
luck.” 

Sora Amalia turned to an index at the end of the 
worn evangel of fortune and ran her finger down a 
list. “ I don’t know that you would call it bad ex- 
actly,” she informed him, “ but to me it smells of 
misfortune. ^ Constancy under suffering.’ ” 

“ Madonna mia ! ” cried the young man with such 
distress in his voice that the woman looked up in sur- 
prise. He had changed color and was leaning heavily 
with both hands on the counter. His adviser has- 
tened to comfort him. 

Come ! come,” she said soothingly, “ do not let 
yourself be agitated. We will choose something else 
for you. Sora Rosa’s chair broke down with her this 
morning and she went plump into a basket of cherries. 
A marmalade it was, when she got up ! I will find the 
number for chair.” 

‘‘ No, no, I will not play in the lottery this week, 
Sora Amalia,” and Rinaldo drew the book from her 
hand. Listen, there is something else I want to ask 


GIANNELLA 


197 


you. Did Sora Mariuccia come in this morning? I 
am wondering whether she got the fruit I told my 
vignarolo to take her yesterday. That poor man is 
of a stupidity sometimes.’’ 

She said nothing about it to me,” replied Sora 
Amalia, falling into the trap at once ; “ she seemed in a 
great hurry and pretty cross too. I asked her what 
was the matter, and she said Giannella was ill — oh, 
nothing serious, just the effect of the scirocco. Do 
not alarm yourself, signorino. Listen to a fool and I 
will tell you something.” She leaned over and whis- 
pered in his ear, It is probably a disease of the heart, 
and there is an easy remedy for it.” 

She looked so serious that Rinaldo caught her hand 
and cried : 

“Tell me, what is it? I would walk a hundred 
miles to get it for her. What is the remedy? ” 

“ A pound of sausages ! ” Sora Amalia broke into a 
peal of laughter. But Rinaldo fled, leaving his pur- 
chases behind him. 

The next morning he came down to the church and 
hung about the street a little while in the hope of see- 
ing Mariuccia, but she did not appear, and he climbed 
back to his studio and began work with a heavy heart. 
Later in the day he felt that he must have news of 
Giannella, and, reflecting that he had a perfect right 
to go and ask for them, even from the Professor him- 
self, went boldly to the Palazzo Santa fede and stood 
once more before the green door, this time with a 
beating heart and a certain hesitation as to ringing 
the bell. The notion of encountering the master of 


GIANNELLA 


198 

the house was extremely repellent to him. Yet that 
was precisely what happened, for as he put his hand 
out towards the bell, the door opened and Bianchi 
emerged in a hurry, nearly knocking down the new 
arrival. As each started back with protests and apol- 
ogies, their eyes met, and Rinaldo felt himself again 
possessed by the rampant antipathy he had experienced 
on his first view of the Professor. No reason is asked 
or given for such impressions in Rome. ‘‘ Sympathy,’^ 
“ Antipathy,’’ these terms cover everything, and to 
fight against the sentiments they inspire is equal to fly- 
ing in the face of Providence. So the two men glared 
at each other for a moment, the usual conventionali- 
ties arrested on their lips. Then Bianchi inquired 
coldly, What can I do to serve you ? ” 

“If you will so far favor me, sir,” Rinaldo replied, 
“ I would wish to ask after the Signorina Giannella. 
I hear with deep regret that she is unwell.” 

A slow flush rose to the Professor’s cheeks. Who 
was this good-looking, well-dressed young man, and 
what possible right had he to be interested in Gian- 
nella’s health? What had been going on, that he 
should even know her name? A storm of suspicion 
and anger swept over him at the discovery of what 
could be nothing but some love intrigue, hidden from 
him by the women with abominable cunning. His 
gorge rose so that he could hardly reply with any 
show of self-restraint. 

“ I ought to be much obliged for this kind interest 
in a member of my family ” — Bianchi had fairly 
good manners as a rule, but he could not keep a sneer 


GIANNELLA 


199 


out of his tone — especially as I have not the honor 
of knowing your respected name.’^ He paused, and 
Rinaldo, too angry to speak, drew a card from his 
pocket and held it out with a stiff bow. The other 
took it without glancing at it and continued, “ I really 
cannot understand why the young lady’s health should 
concern a total stranger. Perhaps you will be so kind 
as to explain?” 

He was still standing in the open doorway, and 
the impertinence of not asking the visitor to enter was 
too much for Rinaldo’s hot little temper. “ I explain 
nothing to persons wanting in common civility,” he re- 
torted ; “ I should like to speak with Sora Mariuccia.” 

For an answer the Professor stepped back into the 
passage and slammed the door. Poor Giannella, lying 
on her bed at the other end of the house, gave a cry 
of alarm and pressed her hands to her aching temples. 
Mariuccia came down the passage to scold her bad boy. 

Have you got no heart, padrone ? Have I not told 
you that Giannella has fever, that she must be kept 
quiet ? And there you go, slamming the door as if you 
wanted to bring these old walls down on our heads. 
Have a little consideration for that poor sick child.” 

Sick, indeed,” snarled Bianchi, worked up to a 
frenzy by his new suspicions ; “ don’t tell lies. There 
is nothing the matter with her but temper — and over- 
eating. You give her too much meat, and that young 
blood makes itself into fire at this season. And you 
spoil her and humor her, till she thinks she is the mis- 
tress of the house already. Pll teach her better soon, 
and you too, and if you don’t care about the lesson 


200 


GIANNELLA 


you can go and find another master. Do you under- 
stand?” 

And he flung off into his study, slamming the door, 
this time with vicious satisfaction. 

Mariuccia shook her fist at it. “ I knew this was 
coming,” she muttered. “ You want to marry Gian- 
nella, so that she shall cook and wash and patch for 
you gratis, and be starved to death into the bargain. 
And I, who have served you twenty years and have 
saved you hundreds of scudi, besides nursing you 
when you were ill and telling everybody, for the honor 
of the house, fine Christian lies about your being such 
a good master — I am to be turned out on the pave- 
ment to go and beg for new service in my old age. 
No, Professore mio bello, that is not going to happen. 
Rest easy, my son, you will not marry a new cook 
and you will not get rid of the old one. Leave it to 
me. 

Giannella was really ailing now; the improvement 
which had surprised Mariuccia had been short-lived. 
The summer was long and oppressive and the scirocco 
had hung over the city for weeks past, stifling and 
heavy, an invisible pall shutting off all freshness and 
sucking the life out of man and beast. The older peo- 
ple felt it less, but to the young it was a horrible trial ; 
little children blanched and faded away ; boys and girls 
moved listlessly and wearily; and to those in the full 
tide of their youthful vitality it was like a poison ab- 
sorbed with every breath. Giannella, the child of 
northerners, had not the yielding wiriness of the Latin 
constitution. She fought against lassitude and rated 


GIANNELLA 


201 


herself for idleness when, in the hot hours of the day, 
while three-quarters of the population was wisely tak- 
ing its siesta, she tried task after task and dropped 
them all, from sheer fatigue. And now the troubles 
at home, the mysterious persecutions of the padrone, 
Mariuccia’s only too natural breakdowns of temper — 
all these irritations on the one hand, and on the other 
the disturbing happiness of first love and the fear .that 
it ought to be renounced — these things were too much 
for the white northern rose set to achieve its growth 
in the hot south, and Giannella broke down. Fever 
and its attendant demon, headache, had fastened upon 
her; for one day she lay in the dark back room, and 
then, feeling that she should go crazy there, she begged 
Mariuccia to make up a bed for her in the little work- 
room where at any rate the window admitted some- 
thing to breathe. So Mariuccia settled her comforta- 
bly, closed the Venetians and left her to herself, only 
looking in from time to time to bring her a sip of 
lemonade or turn her crumpled pillow. The summer 
fever was a familiar ill, and the old woman knew just 
what to do for it. It would pass — she had no anxiety 
on that score. Her whole mind was turned to some- 
thing else, the discovery of some means by which to 
cure her padrone of the mad caprice which was de- 
stroying the peace of the household and would inevita- 
bly break up the household itself unless something 
were done to snap the spell. 

For a spell it was, an ‘‘ incanto,” a cursed enchant- 
ment, cast by that stranger who had visited him some 
time ago but who nov/ came no more. Yes, she had 


202 


GIANNELLA 


been right in fastening the blame of it on him. Again 
she counted the days and weeks, with all the difficulty 
that besets the uneducated in any attempt at accuracy, 
and assured herself that she had not been mistaken. 
It was just two days after his first visit that the pa- 
drone had discovered that Giannella cooked polpetti so 
beautifully — that was the beginning of his symptoms. 
Yes, the strange lawyer had brought the trouble 
(managgia to him and the best of his little dead) ; he 
had woven the spell and, according to all the canons 
of black magic, he alone must remove it. The only 
other cure would be an exorcism in form, and Mari- 
uccia doubted whether the master in his present 
naughty state of mind would admit the priest and 
acolyte into the house, much less stand still to be sprin- 
kled with holy water and have the prayers said over 
him. 

So the stranger must be found and coaxed or bribed 
or terrorized into undoing his work. Mariuccia had no 
personal fear of him and no doubts of her success, could 
she only lay her hand upon him. If Domine Dio would 
but keep His Hand on her head so that she should not 
choke with rage before she had said her say, that say 
would open the lawyer’s eyes to the punishments await- 
ing the servants of the Fiend. Cipicchia ! She would 
describe his future and that of all his descendants, as 
well as the present torture of his ancestors for his mis- 
doing, in terms so scorching that the boldest miscre- 
ant’s courage must give way under them. All the splen- 
didly vivid descriptions of hell that she had listened to 
in church when some Passionist Father was invited to 


GIANNELLA 


203 


preach repentance during Lent had been stored up in 
her memory, clear and sequent, as it is only possible 
for spoken words to be stored in minds which have 
always depended on oral instruction alone. Each 
grizzly, terrifying detail was as much a fact to Mari- 
uccia as the visible surroundings of her daily life. 

“ Oh, give him to me. Madonna mia bella,” she 
prayed, “ and I will teach him something for the good 
of his soul, besides obtaining the cure of my poor pa- 
droncino! Tell me a little — is it his fault? How 
should he, good pacific man, with his blind eyes that 
never seem to see anything but his books and his stones 
— how should he 'recognize the emissary of Satan, in 
that nice frock coat too, and with such pleasant man- 
ners ? That young man would have deceived anybody 
except an angel or a saint. Now, if I find him, I will 
light a candle of three pounds’ weight — think of that, 
how grand it will look — over there at your altar in 
San Severino ! I will indeed, if I have to go without 
food for a week to buy it.” 

Having made this heroic promise, Mariuccia felt 
better. She would be shown the way — who ever ap- 
pealed to the Mother of Mercy in vain? And as she 
went cheerily about the humble tasks which made the 
sum of her life, a light came to her. She and Gian- 
nella must have a man to help them, a man who could 
go about in the streets and public places and seek out 
their enemy for them, as they themselves could not 
possibly do. And the man was there. Who but that 
kind, clever Signorino Goffi, who spoke so amiably, 
so condescendingly, not only to Giannella — small 


204 


GIANNELLA 


wonder in that, she was the prettiest bit of sugar in 
Rome# — but to poor old Mariuccia Botti, who was lit- 
tle accustomed to courtesy and attention and had not 
made a new friend in twenty years. 

Yes, she would tell him all about it, and he, so 
instructed, so intelligent, would certainly do what was 
required. Here was the answer to her prayer already. 
She would take the rest for granted and buy that 
candle to-morrow. The blessed Madonna would not 
let a poor old woman beat her in generosity — spend 
all that money in vain. That would hardly be delicate, 
and delicacy, the most exquisite consideration for the 
feelings of others, was, as Mariuccia knew, one of the 
Divine characteristics, and could always be counted 
upon, if poor mortals were only willing to do their 
part. 


CHAPTER XVI 


G IANNELLA was not the only person who was 
suffering from the effects of the scirocco. 
Across the way good Fra Tommaso was weighed down 
by unaccustomed spiritual depression hitherto un- 
known to his cheerful nature. He did not ascribe it 
to the weather, but to the small progress he was mak- 
ing towards the saintliness which the Cardinal, thirty 
years before, had pointed out to him as his goal. Padre 
Anselmo had done the same every week since then; 
and Fra Tommaso confessed to himself, with many 
misgivings, that he was woefully far away from it still. 
Twice lately he had lost his temper with the schoolboy 
who served the first Mass; this morning he had been 
so carried away as to box the youngster’s ears for 
trying to trip him up as he came out of the sacristy; 
also he had had more distractions than usual of late, 
and only last Saturday had made up his mind that 
he would break the bonds which held him to the world 
at one blow — and not look at a single face in the 
church. This had been hard work indeed, but he had 
succeeded in keeping his eyes on the ground as he went 
about his duties, and had not even looked up when 
somebody knocked over a chair. Still he was very 
unhappy, and when the midday gun boomed from 
Sant’ Angelo found it hard to put much spirit into his 
bell-ringing. That blessed fellow over at Santa Eula- 
205 


14 


2o6 


GIANNELLA 


lia would have it all his own way to-day, for Fra 
Tommaso’s arms ached, and his peals trailed off into 
silence while all the other belfries were clanging with 
sound. As they ceased he heard his rival still ding- 
donging it across the river, and it was with a dreadful 
sense of deficiency and defeat that he closed the church 
and climbed the long flights to his loggia. 

As he emerged from the semi-darkness of the stairs 
into the blaze of light and heat on the roof he sank 
down in the strip of shade by the doorstep of his 
room and leaned back, weary and breathless, against 
the lintel. How hot and sweet the basilica ’’ was 
smelling there in its box on the parapet, and how 
pleasantly the perfume mingled with that of the cab- 
bage soup simmering confidentially on the charcoal in- 
side the room ! Ah, it was pleasant up here ; the world 
and its temptations lay six flights below; no distrac- 
tions could climb as high as this, thank Heaven. 

His pigeons came fluttering down from the eaves to 
welcome him, and hopped about, anxiously waiting for 
their largesse of corn. He was about to rise and fetch 
it when he glanced up and saw that one of the number 
had not joined the rest, but perched on a flower-pot 
with averted head as if in a fit of bad temper. Fra 
Tomrnaso feared it must be ailing and, getting up 
stiffly, prepared to capture it. As he moved, the oth- 
ers gathered eagerly round his feet, their burnished 
plumage giving out splendid glints of purple and green 
in the sun. The old man bent down to them laugh- 
ing. Patience, patience, you gluttonous ones,” he 
said, “ you shall have it all in good time.” 


GIANNELLA 


207 


Then he rubbed his eyes and looked at them again. 
All the seven were there, yes, seven. He looked up 
at the parapet, and there, viciously pulling a grand 
red carnation to pieces, sat an eighth, an audacious 
stranger who evidently intended to make himself at 
home. 

Out came Fra Tommaso’s head from the strip of 
shade, the sun causing him to blink painfully and 
showing the deep lines on his dark old face and the 
greenish seams of his worn robe. With outstretched 
hand he cautiously approached his visitor; but the cau- 
tion was thrown away, for the strange bird landed on 
his shoulder and began playfully pecking at his griz- 
zled hair, murmuring soft little sounds as if to entreat 
his indulgence. It made no resistance when he lifted 
it off to see it closer, but as he did so, his fingers came 
in contact with metal, with ribbon — what was this? 
He almost let the creature go in his amazement, when 
he discovered that it wore a tiny silver collar and that 
a ribbon, slender as a thread, was attached to the col- 
lar and passed under one wing. With shaking hand he 
pulled at the silk, and then almost reeled in surprise, 
for out came a fold of paper with writing showing 
through its thin tissue. Holy Saints preserve us! 
What portent was this? 

His first impulse was one of fear. He moved a step 
to hurl the uncanny creature over the parapet; then 
curiosity overpowered him. He must see what was 
written on the paper. He knew that he should have 
no more peace of mind unless he did. Clumsily he got 
the missive free and opened it with knotty fingers that 


2o8 


GIANNELLA 


had never handled a love letter before. All was dim 
till he pulled out his horn spectacles and fixed them on 
his nose ; then, careless of the sun that was beating on 
his bare head, deaf to the cries of his faithful re- 
tainers clamoring for food, he read this surprising mes- 
sage: 

“ Angel of my heart, for three days I have not seen 
thy beautiful face. I expire of anguish. I consume 
with torment. When shall I behold thee again ? Ah, 
let it be soon, or I shall throw myself into the river. 
I cannot support existence parted from thee. Thine 
for all eternity. R.’^ 

Now indeed Fra Tommaso’s head reeled and he had 
to put out a hand to the parapet to keep himself from 
falling. He nearly knocked over the cherished lemon- 
tree, and as he bumped against it was aware of the un- 
known bird perched on a branch, gazing at him with a 
wicked, knowing gleam in its bright eyes. The sacris- 
tan recoiled in horror. What demon was this, assail- 
ing him in his old age with lures which he had bravely 
renounced in his distant youth? No other thought oc- 
curred to him than that he had been singled out for 
supernatural trial by the powers of darkness; as soon 
as he could collect his senses he breathed a fervent 
prayer to dear Saint Anthony of the many temptations 
to preserve him from yielding a hair’s-breadth to their 
wiles. 

This was instantly effectual, for the unblessed visitor 
suddenly spread its wings, rose up into the air and 


GIANNELLA 


209 


fluttered away over the roof. Fra Tommaso breathed 
more easily for a moment ; then he realized that he still 
retained the missive of evil in his hand. Ah, it must 
be destroyed at once. In his haste to reach the fire he 
stumbled over the uneven bricks, startling his own im- 
nocent pigeons so that they scurried away from under 
his feet. Once inside his room he almost ran to the 
square of bricks in the corner where the charcoal was 
burning in one opening, lifted off the earthenware pot 
with its cabbage soup bubbling so appetizingly, and 
dropped the communication of the Fiend among the 
coals. Then, as if fearing that it would fly out in his 
face, he replaced the pot firmly. He had conquered 
the first assault of the enemy at one blow, but he felt 
that he must be on the alert for the next attack. 

Exhausted with so many emotions, he sat down, wip- 
ing his face, to collect his thoughts. What dreadful 
sin or weakness had he fallen into of late? What in- 
ner traitor had opened his heart’s door to the ad- 
versary? Poor Fra Tommaso was conscious of hav- 
ing battled rather manfully against his besetting sin, 
his love of watching the congregation, of weaving his 
own little stories about the bright young faces and the 
tired old ones, his sympathy for the widow who al- 
ways cried a little at Mass, and even for the pretty, 
naughty girl who had actually passed a note from her 
prayer-book into the hand of the young man who 
paused for a moment beside her chair. He had tried 
not to wonder what could be the matter over there 
with Giannella, that the blinds of her workroom win- 
dow, whence she had often waved a smiling greeting 


210 


GIANNELLA 


to her old friend the sacristan, should be tightly 
closed — and that neither she nor Mariuccia should 
have come to the church for some days. He was 
sure he had been faithful to last Saturday’s resolve 
to keep his eyes on the ground as he came and went. 
Last Saturday, and this was Tuesday. Three days. 
The period mentioned in that wicked letter ! 

The terrible conviction was forced upon him that 
his tempter was some member of the congregation 
who had noticed his refusal to look around and, aided 
by the powers of darkness, was taking means to shake 
his resolution. ‘‘ For three days I have not seen thy 
beautiful face.” There was not a mirror in the whole 
of the San Severino establishment, and Fra Tom- 
maso had not seen his own face for some thirty 
years. He put up his hand and felt it in a wondering 
way. It seemed very rough and stubbly; the pious 
barber who shaved him for nothing only called on 
Saturday evenings. Surely none but the Father of 
Lies could tell him that it was beautiful! 

Well, that enemy could be subdued. He rose wear- 
ily; the first weapon to employ being self-denial. Fra 
Tommaso sternly removed his dinner from the fire 
and put it out of sight in the cupboard. Then, 
instead of taking his siesta, he went down and set 
about cleaning one or two corners of the church with 
such good will that his broom dislodged clouds of 
dust and sent them flying about him till the stray 
sunbeams caught them in the air and turned them 
into a hundred floating aureoles above his good gray 


GIANNELLA 


211 


head. Perhaps they were reflections of some real 
and lovely halo stored up for the single of heart. 

Twelve hours later Rome lay sleeping under the 
August moon, sleeping in a flood of silver that spread 
and broadened as the perfect orb swung slowly up till 
it marked its zenith in the faint yet living argent of 
the sky. The stars seemed to withdraw from its 
path, their delicate, infinite myriads weaving ethereal 
veils of moving silver arc above arc, in the measure- 
less spaces beyond, like immortal spirits watching the 
progress of some incarnate loveliness through a world 
apart from theirs, a world holding it by an unseen 
yet inseverable tie to its splendid tangibilities of 
marble palaces and leaping fountains and deep old 
gardens full of oleander fragrances and cypress 
shades. 

Rain had fallen in the hills, and with the full of the 
moon had come a cool breeze from the west; before it 
the miasmas of the scirocco broke up and fled. In 
the midnight silence the wind blew softly over the 
seven hills, singing little songs of health and fresh- 
ness near at hand. On Fra Tommaso’s loggia the 
carnations were reaching out to the coolness, the lit- 
tle lemon-tree was spreading each leaf like a shining 
spearhead in the calm, unscorching light; and be- 
tween the carnations and the lemon-tree a young 
man stood bareheaded, leaning over the parapet and 
gazing with sorrowful eyes at a closed window in 
the palace wall across the way. 


212 


GIANNELLA 


Rinaldo had passed the most wretched day of his 
life; every hour of it had been a drawn-out purgatory. 
This was the third of his trial, for he had had no 
news of Giannella since the Saturday morning when 
Sora Amalia had told him that she was ill. What 
was happening behind those impenetrable walls ? 
Was his beloved suffering, dying perhaps, longing for 
a word from him, and wondering that she received 
none, that he did not come to her? How could he? 
Twice each day he had rung at the green door in 
the hope of learning something; and each time the 
little shutter behind the grating had been withdrawn, 
two fierce spectacled eyes had identified him from 
between the bars — and then the shutter was pushed 
sharply into place and the guardian of the house 
had retreated and closed another door within. The 
Professor had evidently forbidden Mariuccia to an- 
swer the bell, and Rinaldo could think of no means 
of communicating with her. As a forlorn hope he 
had despatched Themistocles with an impassioned 
letter, and Themistocles, evil fowl, had stayed away 
many hours, got rid. of his message — and returned 
with no answer. Giannella must be ill indeed if she 
could not send him one little word to show that she 
was alive, was thinking of her faithful Rinaldo. 
Perhaps, he told himself, his sudden declaration of 
love, the adorable thing unnamed till now, had 
frightened or offended her. But in that case surely 
she would have sent it back. No, he was sure that 
she had received it, and almost sure that she was 
even now holding it in her fast-chilling hand or pres- 


GIANNELLA 


213 


sing it feebly to her dying lips! Death is forever 
on duty in the antechamber of youth’s picturesque 
imagination; the slightest accent of sorrow calls him 
up, and he seems to put his head in at the door and 
say, Here I am, my dear. Use me as you like. Is 
it for yourself? Then it shall be all flowers and 
elegies and lovely memories for your mourning 
friends. Oh, it is for your best beloved? I see. 
I can manage that too, and leave you a hero and 
a martyr, bravely carrying a broken heart to an early 
grave at your lost one’s side.” 

And youth bows its head and weeps in ecstatic 
pain on the henchman’s indulgent shoulder, and then 
says, “ Another time, good friend,” and then flies 
back, a thousand times deeper in love with living, to 
kind, familiar life, strengthened and sane once more. 

Rinaldo’s heart had been drawing him all day to 
the point when he could at least feel near to Gian- 
nella. Fra Tommaso’s loggia. In the cool midnight, 
when he could count on the owner’s heaviest sleep, 
he stole thither and stood with outstretched hands, 
praying to the closed window that barred in his dream 
of happiness. The breeze played comfortably on his 
brow, the bath of moonlight calmed his fretted 
nerves; he hardly knew whether the moister in his 
eyes were tears or the dewy benedictions of the night. 
“ Giannella, Giannella, flower of my soul,” he mur- 
mured, speak to me, dream of me. I am here, my 
heart calls you — come, come.” 

There was a sound across the way, the click of a 
receding bolt, the stealthy scraping of wood on stone. 


214 


GIANNELLA 


Then a shutter swung open, and out of the dark 
rough frame, like a flower breaking in snow from 
its rejected sheath, Giannella leaned out, a vision of 
whiteness mantled in falling gold, and raised her 
lovely face to the sky. 

A cry broke from her lover’s lips and startled her. 
She shook back her hair and straightened herself, 
resting both hands on the sill as her gaze explored 
the night, traveling slowly up to the higher level 
opposite. Then a cry of terrified joy rang out in 
the stillness, for she thought she saw a spirit — 
Rinaldo’s. 

The next moment she knew it was her lover, in 
the flesh, though how he came to be standing there 
seemed a secret between him and some kind arch- 
angel — for a word came to her across the dividing 
depth, a word so pulsing with passion that only living 
lips could have given it utterance, “ Amore mio, 
amore mio ! ” 

Rinaldo’s hands were stretched out as if he would 
lift her over the abyss to his side. They two were 
alone in the world of the night; above them hung the 
gentle moon in calm, encouraging splendor; all bar- 
riers save that of the narrow empty space were left 
far below, and what was space to them? Each could 
hear the other’s, voice, see the other’s eyes, and there 
was none between them. What more could the deli- 
cate young love desire as yet ? 

“ Rinaldo, is it you ? ’’ came the tremulous, happy 
tones. “ O my soul, I die of joy. It seemed as if 
I should never see you again.” 


GIANNELLA 


215 


“ I have died a thousand deaths, Giannella,’* he 
answered. ‘‘ They told me you were ill — I could 
not get to you. O Heaven give me wings. Call, 
call, my heart’s love, and your sister angels will bring 
you over to me.” 

“To ‘clausura?’” she replied. “ Figlio mio, you 
stand on such holy ground that its guardians would 
chase the angels away, if they were sisters of mine. 
How did you get there? Is it safe for you? Oh, 
take care. If anything should happen to you — ” 
She leaned further out and he could see all the tender 
anxiety in her eyes. 

“ How I came ? ” he repeated. “ Cuore mio, I 
have been here so often watching for you as you 
came and went past that window — my feet would 
find the way in the dark, I think.” 

“ But it is Fra Tommaso’s loggia,” she persisted. 
“ I am afraid for you ! The Fathers will be so angry 
if they find you there. They might send you to 
prison, and I should die of grief. Oh, go back now. 
I am frightened. Where is Fra Tommaso?” 

“ Sound asleep, in there,” Rinaldo replied, laughing 
and pointing over his shoulder to the tightly closed 
door of the one room. “ Have no fears, he is snor- 
ing sublimely. Do you think such a night as this was 
made for snuffy old sacristans? No, indeed. All 
the lovers in paradise are on our side, keeping him 
quiet so that we may speak at last. Tell me, my 
beautiful angel, do you love me?” 

The beautiful angel did not answer in words, but 
held out her arms with a gesture of such true ten- 


2i6 


GIANNELLA 


derness that Rinaldo’s heart seemed to leap across the 
gulf and nestle in them. 

I knew it,” came his enraptured cry. You are 
for me, core of my heart. Oh, but we shall be 
happy, happy.” 

“ Ah, Rinaldo,” she replied, her face changing, 
‘‘ there are too many obstacles — you do not know 
— they are trying to make me marry the Professor.” 

‘‘They? Who?” he asked fiercely. “Tell me 
their names — then leave them to me.” 

“ It is he, Bianchi, and the Princess. She said 
it was my duty. But it is not.” She straightened up 
with sudden energy. “ I know now, thank God, I 
know. But there is much trouble, Mariuccia wants 
to tell you about it, to ask you to help us. You 
will see — you are so clever — you will understand 
what should be done.” 

“ Why do anything, my dear, except walk over to 
San Severino with Mariuccia and ask one of the 
Fathers to marry us? The home is ready, I hunger 
for you. Leave everything behind and come.” 

“ No,” she replied gravely, “ that is not the way. 
We must leave no bad feeling behind to make other 
people miserable. He is the padrone, he has let me 
live here for years — he has never been unkind — till 
lately, and Mariuccia thinks some evil person has cast 
a spell over him. We must make him see reason, 
and the Princess must understand too. She was very 
good to me once. It would seem a piece of treason 
to just run away like that — it would not bring us 
happiness, Rinaldo mio.” 


GIANNELLA 


21'p 


You shall have it your own way, bene mio,” he 
said, ‘‘ but promise me one thing. When we have 
done all we can to make them understand, when it is 
explained to them that we love each other, that I am 
a galantuomo, that I give you what they have never 
given you, a happy home, such as the best, sweetest 
girl in the world should have — the appartamentino 
is of a prettiness — and so cheap — then, if they still 
oppose us, you will say, ‘ Arrivederci, signori miei. 
It is now finished. I take the liberty of sending you 
some confetti, for I espouse Rinaldo Goffi without 
another moment’s delay.’ Will you promise me that, 
Giannella ? ” 

Oh yes,” she laughed back, “ if Signor Goffi still 
wants me. Does he know that I have no dowry, no 
family, no pretty clothes to wear when he takes me 
out for a walk — that I am nearly twenty-one, and 
as stupid as a cabbage? Has he considered all these 
tribulations ? ” 

“If you say another word I shall jump across the 
street into your room,” he declared ; “ love will carry 
me over quite safely. And how Mariuccia will 
scold when she finds me there.” 

“ Audacious one, you grow indiscreet,” said Gian- 
nella. “ To-morrow morning Mariuccia will look for 
you after the first Mass. Oh, I am so much better. 
I shall not be ill any more. You have cured me, dear, 
enlightened doctor. So to-morrow be sure to come 
to the church in time. I shall not be there, she will 
not let me go out so soon, but she will tell you every- 
thing. Now go, go, beloved, we have talked too 


2i8 


GIANNELLA 


long. Even the moon is getting tired of listening to 
us, see, she veils her face. Good-night, good-night ! ” 
A little cloud had drifted up from the west, shadow- 
ing the silvery air to gray, but Rinaldo saw Giannella 
lean forward and blow him a kiss. Then she reso- 
lutely drew the blind into place; he heard the bolt 
click, and turned to depart. Only just in time, for 
he became aware that Fra Tommaso was moving in 
his room. The next instant Rinaldo was over the 
dividing wall and racing for his own terrace through 
the ups and downs of the little city on the roof. 
Then the sacristan’s door opened with a rusty creak 
and the old man, still dazed with sleep, came out and 
looked about him. The paleness of dawn was in 
the east, his pigeons stirred and scratched in their 
cote, and he went and drove them in again with sharp 
taps. 

Unmannerly fowls that you are,” he grumbled, 
what have you been making such a disturbance 
about? I could have sworn someone was talking 
here. Silly ones, it is only three o’clock. We can 
all go back to bed for an hour.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


M ARIUCCIA, having decided on her course of 
action, had confided to Giannella her intention 
of appealing to Signorino Goffi. She would look 
for him in church in the morning, and if he was not 
there, she would find him out at the top of Sora 
Amalia’s house. Did not Giannella think that a fine 
idea? The padrone had managed to enlist the most 
excellent Princess on his side (Mariuccia had by this 
time concluded that the Princess’s verdict was given 
upon insufficient information, and might be combated 
without impiety) ; well, she and Giannella would also 
find a defender, and he at any rate should labor under 
no misapprehension as to the true state of affairs. 
Then, closing the window so as to admit no breath 
of the night air, which the Romans look upon as 
fatal, she set all the doors open and retired to her 
cave beyond the kitchen on the other side of the 
passage. 

Giannella had waited until the sound of her deep 
breathing came regularly through the darkness. 
Then, panting for air, she had gently closed her door 
and opened her window. Better malaria than as- 
phyxia, she thought. 

When she crept back to bed after her talk with 
Rinaldo it seemed as if the little room was full of 
219 


220 


GIANNELLA 


light and sweet music. Oh, God was good, life was 
divine. No one in the world had ever been so happy 
as she! Long she lay awake, going over every word 
her lover had spoken, remembering every glance of 
his eyes, every expression of his face which told her 
that he was all hers, forever and ever. When at 
last she fell asleep, the chill airs of dawn were wan- 
dering through the blind, and its first light showed 
her resting as peacefully as a child, heartache and fever 
gone together, the round cheeks smooth as rose leaves, 
the baby gold of the hair flung wide over the pillow 
and half veiling the young white hands that lay 
crossed on her breast. 

So Mariuccia found her when she stole in before 
going out to the church, and an exultant pride in her 
Giannella’s loveliness rose in her heart and brought 
a little moisture to her faithful old eyes. “ Madonna 
mia,’’ she whispered, ‘‘ were you more beautiful when 
Monsignore Gabriele came and knelt before you and 
said, ‘ Ave gratia plena ? ' Oh, you must indeed have 
had her poor mother under your mantle when she 
bore this flower! Poverina, she never lived to re- 
joice over her, but that was just as well, since she 
would not have known how to bring her up. But 
there are heretics and heretics, eh, Madonne mia bella ? 
And that poor little thing knew no better, did she? 
She kissed your picture and the crucifix when I held 
them to her lips, and she died for her baby — and as 
for Signor Brockmann, good man, he never refused 
a paoletto to the Cappuccino when he came to beg — 
and this angel has prayed for her parents' souls ever 


GIANNELLA 


221 


since she could speak — oh, they may say what they 
like, Mother of Mercy, but you will see to it that she 
finds her poor papa and mamma in paradise. I am 
quite sure of that.’’ 

Softly she went out locked the door and took away 
the key, for was not the unfortunate padrone, pos- 
sessed of demons and no longer responsible for his 
actions, sleeping at the other end of the house? She 
crossed herself as she passed his door, and then, catch- 
ing up her big umbrella, for the morning was cloudy, 
she hurried off to San Severino, where Fra Tommaso 
was ringing with a will for the first Mass. 

Rinaldo descended a few minutes later and 
hastened to the side chapel, where he found Mariuccia 
already ensconced in her accustomed place. She was 
saying her rosary with great fervor. Once she turned 
to the young man with a look of tremendous mean- 
ing, and as soon as the last Gospel was ended rose 
from her knees and strode towards the door. Rinaldo 
followed and found her waiting for him in the outer 
court where he and Giannella had learned to know 
one another. The fountain was splashing rather 
sadly under a threatening sky; a drop or two of rain 
fell, blotching the flags ; the beggars looked singularly 
depressed, and altogether the air was somewhat 
tragedy laden. 

Where can we speak as two alone ? ” the old 
woman asked wheeling round and facing the artist. 
Her black eyes were snapping under the colored hand- 
kerchief she had thrown over her head on entering the 
church, and her iron-gray hair was crinkling more 


222 


GIANNELLA 


fiercely than usual round her low, dark forehead. 
She was evidently in fighting mood and Rinaldo 
hailed the symptoms joyfully. Between them they 
would make an end of all this rubbish about im- 
possible marriages and imaginary obligations. He 
could have fought the world single-handed this 
morning. 

At Mariuccia’s question he glanced up sideways 
at the distant balustrade of his terrace, the spot 
whence he had first caught sight of Giannella. 

Well, Sora Mariuccia,” he said, “ if you will be so 
complaisant as to climb ninety-three steps, we can 
discourse with much tranquillity in my studio up 
there. We shall have the place all to ourselves, at 
least.” 

''If steps were destined to kill me I should be in 
San Lorenzo now,” she replied, shrugging her shoul- 
ders. " Let us go up.” 

He led the way past the dairy to the side door and 
his companion followed him up to the top landing 
without once pausing to take breath. He flung the 
door open and stood aside to let her pass in, and she 
was advancing when she suddenly backed against him 
with a scream of terror. " Madonne mia Santissima, 
what is thatf 

Rinaldo, supporting her in his arms, looked over 
her shoulder and broke into uncontrollable laughter. 
His trusty lay figure was stretched on the floor in 
horrid disarray, one stiff, discolored arm raised as 
if protesting against the ravages of Themistocles, 
who sat on its head, tearing viciously at its matted 


GIANNELLA 


223 


locks. Nothing so corpse-like and ghastly had ever 
saluted Mariuccia’s vision, and she was trying hard 
not to faint. Suddenly Themistocles flew up with a 
moth-eaten ringlet in his beak. This was the last 
stroke. Mariuccia covered her face with her hands 
and rushed back, moaning, to the head of the stairs. 
Rinaldo was beside her in a moment, entreating, re- 
assuring, laughing. 

Don’t be alarmed,” he pleaded, ‘‘ it is only my 
mannechino, my model — what I paint from, you 
know. I should have warned you. Donkey without 
heart that I am, to give you such a fright! Come, 
I will show you.” He drew her back into the room. 
“ I was in a hurry to get down to the church this 
morning and knocked the old cripple over and never 
stopped to pick it up.” 

She turned her eyes unwillingly on the gruesome 
object while he bestowed it safely against the wall. 
Then she found courage to laugh at herself a little 
and sank, rather exhausted, into the chair of state, 
which Rinaldo pulled forward for her. She made a 
strange picture there, a homely sybil in peasant dress, 
with the strings of red coral round her neck and the 
gold earrings in her ears. Her brow was knitted 
with thought, her wrinkled hands grasped the two 
arms firmly; and behind her, on either side of her 
majestic old head, the bloated gilt cherubs dimpled 
and simpered as they had dimpled and simpered for 
powdered beauties and courtly prelates in days gone 
by- 

Rinaldo, perched on a stool opposite, took in the 


224 


GIANNELLA 


quaint picture and made a mental note of it for future 
reference. Now he was in a hurry to get to the busi- 
ness which had brought her there — without letting 
her perceive that he knew something of it already. 

I am so glad you wish to speak to me/’ he began. 
“ It is a pleasure to see you here. Is there anything 
I can do to serve you, my dear Sora Mariuccia ? ” 
Yes, there is, since you are so kind,” she replied; 

a very important matter, a thing that is giving us 
much disquiet, Giannella and me. Indeed, to tell you 
a secret, signorino, it has really made Giannella ill.” 

“ Is she not better this morning ? ” he asked un- 
guardedly and with a mysterious smile. 

“ How did you know she was ill ? ” Mariuccia’s 
question was sharply put. 

He hastened to retrieve his mistake. Oh, Sora 
Amalia told me, and I was deeply grieved to hear it. 
I have been praying for her recovery.” 

“ You are a good boy,” said Mariuccia, approv- 
ingly, ‘‘ and your prayers have been answered, for 
she is certainly better this morning. She was sleep- 
ing like an image when I came out. But when she 
begins to go about the house again, the Signor Pro- 
fessore (who is the best of men you understand, 
only a little irritable just now) will begin to make 
trouble — but trouble ! Oh, Signorino Rinaldo, there 
seems no end to it, and what can I do? You will 
help us, will you not ? ” 

“ Only command me, command me,” he cried, 
clasping his hands imploringly. “ I would die to 
serve her — and you,” he added hastily. 


GIANNELLA 


225 


Mariuccia looked round, then leaned forward and 
spoke in a stage whisper. “ The padrone wants to 
marry her — in two weeks — and it is I, who have 
lived with him for twenty years, who tell you this — 
if he wants to, he will. When the devil gets into 
him — God forgive me for speaking so of my own 
master — he is as obstinate as a mule, and, in one 
manner or another, is sure to get his way. Giannella 
is a good obedient child, and he persuaded the most 
excellent Princess to tell her that it was her duty to 
consent. But if the Princess, who is a most noble 
Christian, had known half what I know, she would 
let herself be eaten by wolves before she tried to give 
him the girl. For he will starve her to death — he 
cannot help it, that is the way the good God made 
him, poor man — I know what I am talking about. 
Oh, what is the matter? Madonna mia, are you go- 
ing to have a fit ? ’" 

For Rinaldo’s face had turned alarmingly red, his 
eyes were half closed and the veins stood out swollen 
and purple on his temples, which he was hammering 
with his clenched fists. Mariuccia ran to him and 
pulled his hands down from his head and shook him 
violently. Then he seemed to come to himself. 
The flush ebbed .from his face, leaving him of a 
ghastly paleness, his arms fell at his sides, and he 
sank, limp and exhausted, into the chair she had 
just quitted. She hastened to bring him a drink of 
water, and when he had swallowed it he looked up 
gratefully saying, Thank you, I am better 
now He seemed to speak with difficulty. 


226 


GIANNELLA 


Pray excuse me. I was overcome for a moment. 
You were telling me — oh, the words will choke me 
— that Bianchi — is persecuting Giannella — that 
assassin, that executioner — he — ” 

'‘Stop,” cried Mariuccia; "you shall not speak of 
the padrone like that. He is a good man. It is not 
his fault. You will understand when I tell you how 
it all happened. Three months ago — ” 

" Three months,” Rinaldo exclaimed ; " but why 
did you not tell me? Do you not know that I adore 
Giannella? that I do not see the hour to marry her 
myself ? ” 

"Traitor,” thundered the old woman, "have you 
been daring to make love to her in secret? You 
whom I took for a galantuomo, a man of honor — a 
good Christian? Imbecile, donkey that I have been 
to trust you ! ” 

Her outbreak of righteous wrath was terrifying, 
and Rinaldo, who, when not angry, was quite a gentle 
and unwarlike person, quailed under it for a moment, 
and was half inclined to believe that he had behaved 
very badly. But only for a moment. He remem- 
bered that there had never been the slightest inten- 
tion of deceiving Mariuccia or anybody else; that it 
was only because she had stayed at home during the 
Professor^s illness that he had not spoken to her 
before. How he and Giannella had come to under- 
stand each other was their own affair; he would sub- 
mit to no catechism on that point. 

Mariuccia was opening her mouth to speak again, 
but he held up his hand for silence, and, coming close 


GIANNELLA 


227 


to her, looked her squarely in the eyes. “ Sora 
Mariuccia,” he said, your first opinion of me is the 
right one. I am an honest man and, I hope, a good 
Christian. I love your Giannella so truly that since 
I first saw her I have had one thought only, to make 
her my wife. I have never spoken one word to her 
which I could not have spoken in church at the foot 
of the altar with all the saints in paradise listening 
to me. I was only waiting for an opportunity of 
opening my heart to you. I consume with love for 
her — and I know that she loves me. I am not 
rich, but I can maintain her in all comfort and de- 
corum — though not as she deserves. Would any- 
thing in the world be too good for her? No, but I 
will make her the happiest woman in Rome. I 
promise you that. And you, dear, kind Sora Mari- 
uccia, you will leave that cataplasm of a Professor 
and come and live with us, will you not ? 

He took both her hands in his, and there was 
great earnestness in his bright eyes. He looked so 
true and gentle and handsome that Mariuccia’s heart 
became as melting wax. She threw her arms round 
his neck and kissed him on both cheeks; then she 
stood back and looked at him again, laughing and 
crying at once. 

Figlio mio bello, I se.e, I understand. You have 
a heart of gold. Forgive me for that outburst. 
What would you have? I was frightened for a 
moment. You see I have kept Giannella like the 
Bambino Gesu down there in the church, under glass. 
Till this year she never went out alone except for 


228 


GIANNELLA 


the few yards from our door to San Severino and for 
the marketing close by. She has never spoken to a 
stranger — except you — she is a flower of candor, 
her soul is as pure as the wax on the altar. What 
would you have? The world is bad and I am only 
a stupid old woman, and I was frightened. But now 
let us discourse reasonably.’' 

She sat down again and Rinaldo drew his stool 
close to the big chair and prepared to listen. She 
laid a hand on his knee and went on very seriously. 

If you want to marry Giannella, you must persuade 
two persons, my padrone — oh, do hear me pa- 
tiently!” for Rinaldo seemed on the point of inter- 
rupting her — “ yes, my padrone, and the most excel- 
lent Princess ” 

But what has that old lady got to do with it ? ” 
he asked, frowning. 

‘‘ A great deal,” was the reply. She gave Gian- 
nella nine years’ splendid education, she is her god- 
mother of First Communion — and she is my prin- 
cipessa. Do you think I am one of the profane, to 
go against one of the family like that? No indeed. 
Why, none of my relations would ever speak to me 
again. It would be a great sin. And the padrone 
told her what he wanted and persuaded her that it 
was right. And she sent for us and gave us 
both such a talking to that for a little while we almost 
thought she was right too. What would you have? 
A great person like that, so pious, with so much 
learning and cleverness! Of course Giannella had 
not a word to say, and as for me, I did not dare to 


GIANNELLA 


229 


open my mouth. And that was a big mistake. For 
afterwards I perceived that the Principessa could not 
understand what she did not know, and that I ought 
to have told her something — that this caprice, this 
extravagance of my poor master has come suddenly 
upon him, that it is against his nature and clearly of 
the devil.’’ 

“ You really talk very strangely, Sora Mariuccia,” 
said Rinaldo. Do you not think that any man who 
knew Giannella would wish to marry her if he could 
— even as I hope to do ? ” 

“ I never expected you to take the padrone’s part,” 
she retorted laughing. Then she went on more se- 
riously. But listen to me, signorino. To me you 
appear a good boy, honest and kind and truly sim- 
patico, but that is not enough. You will not get my 
consent until you have satisfied the parroco that you 
are fit to be Giannella’s husband. He will want to 
see your baptismal certificate, and your ticket of this 
year’s Easter Communion, and also the police report 
of your conduct generally. If he is satisfied, we will 
order the confetti, my son, but I say nothing till 
then.” 

“ He will be satisfied,” Rinaldo assured her, more 
thankful than he had ever expected to be that his 
record would bear scrutiny ; but tell me, I must 
know, how far does the Professor’s real power over 
Giannella extend? Is he her legal guardian? That 
would give us trouble.” 

‘‘ Legal guardian indeed ! ” snorted Mariuccia. 
‘‘ Only girls with dowries require those. Not a poor 


230 GIANNELLA 

child who would have been taken to the Pieta if 
I had had the heart to let her go there! Why, the 
padrone was always telling me that that was the place 
for her. He grumbled at me for bringing her into 
the house. He never took any notice of her till three 
months ago — and then, from one day to another — 
he is crazy to marry her. I astrologized my head for 
weeks to find out what had changed him all in a 
moment like that. Then I perceived,” she leaned 
closer and spoke in a whisper, that an evil enchant- 
ment was laid upon him.” 

‘‘Really? And by whom?” Rinaldo asked du- 
biously. 

Then Mariuccia related the story of the strange 
lawyer’s visit, of how Giannella had been called in 
and interrogated, and of how the master looked better 
pleased than she had ever seen him before. “ And,” 
she wound up triumphantly, “ that very evening — 
no, the next — he finds out that Giannella cooks pol- 
petti divinely; then he wants her to take care of his 
books. The lawyer comes again — an apoplexy to 
him — and the next thing we know is that Giannella 
is good, that she is pretty — that Heaven destines the 
padrone to be her husband. How does it appear to 
you, signorino? To me it is magic of the most 
wicked.” 

Rinaldo was walking up and down the studio in 
great excitement. “Magic?” he cried; “no, Sora 
Mariuccia, I see worse than that. We have here a 
great mystery. I fear some of her parents’ relations 
have heard how good and beautiful Giannella is, and 


GIANNELLA 


231 


are trying to take her away from Rome. Naturally 
the Professor — who must have eyes and a heart 
somewhere, poveraccio — does not wish to lose her — 
I told you no man could help loving her — and has 
thought of this as the only way to keep her here. 
But we must know, we must know. You are right. 
I must find that lawyer. He will tell us what it all 
means. Oh, for Heaven’s sake, try to remember his 
name.” 

‘‘ I never heard it,” she said ; ‘‘ he gave Giannella 
a card and she did not read it, and when we looked for 
it later it was gone. We only know he was a lawyer 
because the padrone called him ‘ Signor Avvocato ’ 
while Giannella was in the room.” 

‘‘We must get hold of that card,” Rinaldo de- 
clared. “ When you go home tell Giannella to look 
for it everywhere — she will find it, I am sure.^ And 
I will come to the entrance of the palazzo this evening 
at Ave Maria, and you will be so good as to come 
down and give it to me. After that, leave it to me — 
I make it my affair. I would spare you the stairs 
and come up, dear Sora Mariuccia, but the Professor 
might see me, and he must suspect nothing as yet. 
Oh, tell Giannella — ” 

But Mariuccia did not wait to hear the love mes- 
sages. Fra Tommaso’s bells were pealing the hour, 
eight o’clock, and the padrone would expect his coffee 
in precisely fifteen minutes. She sped downstairs 
at a wonderful pace, opened her huge umbrella on the 
doorstep, which was wet with rain, and nearly knocked 
down Sora Amalia, who was in her doorway ex- 


232 


GIANNELLA 


changing the day’s news with Sora Rosa opposite. 
They both looked after the retreating figure and nod- 
ded to one another sagely. 

I told you so,” cried the lady of the dairy trium- 
phantly. ‘‘You see! they make the arrangements.” 

“ La Biondina will at least have the salad at her 
door,” replied Sora Rosa, “ and that is a fine thing. 
But she will never have tomatoes at three baiocchi a 
pound after she marries that rich Signorino Goffi! 
Trust me!” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A S the quick southern dusk was falling Rinaldo 
stole to the foot of the ‘‘ Scala IIL,” concealed 
himself behind an open stable door, and waited for 
Mariuccia. Like all his countrymen, he loved mys- 
tery. This innocent conspiracy set his pulses throb- 
bing pleasantly and cleared his brain to crystal 
acuteness. Besides, he had made an ally of Mari- 
uccia, he had opened his heart to her, and, after her 
first explosion of suspicion, had been received as a 
prospective son. The victory over the Professor and 
his mighty endorser, the Princess, would be mere 
child’s play now, if only Giannella held firm. Al- 
though he had the happiness of knowing that she 
loved him, the young man did not deceive himself 
into believing that she would hold out forever under 
such pressure as was being brought to bear on her. 
The little that he knew of young girls had taught 
him otherwise; the better the girl, the more attention 
she would pay to the commands of those whom she 
considered in authority over her. He could not 
imagine that his own sisters would not meekly accept 
the spouses selected for them. Giannella was singu- 
larly docile and humble-minded. She had always 
been accustomed to set her own wishes aside where 
those of others were in opposition to them, and in 
his few talks with her he had seen that the Professor’s 

233 


234 


GIANNELLA 


awesome learning and the Princess’s power, rank, 
and goodness, caused the girl to regard those two as 
more or less anointed arbiters of her destiny. Rinaldo 
himself had plenty of proper respect for his betters, 
and was a most loyal son of Church and State (one 
in those palmy days), but he came of a good old 
provincial stock, quite as proud in its way as any 
Cestaldini or Santafede; and moreover his university 
training and his artistic education had brought him 
in contact with highly educated and broadminded men, 
so that his outlook on life was a good deal more 
modern than Giannella’s. She had not realized that 
she was being cruelly imposed upon, that no past bene- 
fits could confer on their donors the right to dispose 
of her entire future against her own inclinations. If 
she could be brought to understand that, Rinaldo felt 
that he would be the master of the situation; but 
there was no time to lose if Bianchi had really made 
up his mind to marry her at once. 

The young man was revolving these thoughts in 
his dark corner when the grotesquely stealthy tread 
of creaking shoes drew him from his hiding-place to 
find Mariuccia peering round the side of the archway 
leading to the stairs. With a dramatic gesture she 
beckoned to him, laid a finger on her lips, and pushed 
a bit of pasteboard into his hands. 

Giannella found it between two of his books,” she 
whispered. “ Heaven send he does not look for it 
to-morrow.” 

“ How is she this evening ? ” he inquired in the 
same tone. 


GIANNELLA 


235 


Only so-so/’ was the reply; ‘‘the Signora Prin- 
cipessa has actually written her a letter — such an 
honor. But I almost wish she had not.” 

“Written to Giannella!” he exclaimed. “What 
had she got to say ? ” 

“ Oh, all that she said the other day and more 
still. She is very sure that Giannella ought to accept. 
And the poor child, who had been so happy because 
I told her what we were talking about this morning, 
has been crying all day. She says that if it is her 
duty to marry the padrone she will try to fulfill it, but 
that she will want to throw herself into the Tiber 
afterwards. It is dreadful. If you can only find 
this avvocato and get him to make the padrone change 
his mind, well and good. But otherwise I see no 
way — ” 

“ I do,” said Rinaldo sharply. “ Giannella should 
have more sense. There are wise men, good priests, 
who will tell her in four words where her duty leads 
her. But we will try and reconcile everybody first, 
since you and she wish it. Wait a minute, I will take 
this man’s name and address and then you can put 
this card back where Giannella found it. Please hold 
this match for me.” 

“Oh, make haste. Take care!” she exclaimed as 
Rinaldo struck a vesta and put it into her fingers. 
“ He may come down. If he sees us talking together 
there will be more trouble.” 

Rinaldo had copied the card while she was speak- 
ing. Now he returned it to her, saying, as the match 
spluttered out, “If he does come, I will speak to him. 


GIANNELLA 


236 

I promise you. I will tell the old meddler to go and 
get himself fried — and all his best little dead too.” 

Mariuccia shuddered at the suggestion of this dead- 
liest insult in the Roman’s armory. For the love 
of charity,” she implored, “ do nothing so rash. He 
might hand you over to the police — or even cast 
the evil eye upon you. I cannot say that anything 
has ever happened to me — but he does squint dread- 
fully sometimes, poverino. Run, I hear someone 
coming.” 

“ As you will, I shall bring you good news to-mor- 
row, I hope.” And he moved away and was lost in 
the darkness. Mariuccia drew back into the shadow 
of the stable and from thence watched Bianchi emerge 
from the archway. He was enveloped in the double- 
caped cloak which all the men carried with them 
after sundown, and held a sheaf of papers in one 
hand. He stumbled over a stone and the papers flew 
in every direction. Patiently he stooped and began 
to gather them up. The instinct of service was too 
strong for his old domestic. Instantly she was at 
his side, assisting him deftly. 

“ Is that you, Mariuccia? ” he asked, peering round 
at her. ‘‘Where did you come from? I thought I 
had left you in the house.” 

“ You think and you think, and you never see any- 
thing, Sor Professore,” she grumbled. “ I came down 
the stairs behind you. I must get some camomile for 
Giannella. She has a fever — of those!” 

He seemed in a kindlier mood than usual, for he 
shook his head quite sympathetically and said^ “ That 


GIANNELLA 


237 


is bad. I am sorry. But it is the weather, and all 
that heating food. I warned you before. The 
young blood is not like ours, my good Mariuccia. It 
makes itself to fire when the sun is in Leo. Give her 
less to eat and keep her quiet and she will be well 
in a few days.’’ And he moved away, looking very 
like a brigand in his big cloak with one end thrown 
over his shoulder. 

Mariuccia watched ’him disappear, with an expres- 
sion of almost omniscient pity. ‘‘ Sor Carlo mio,” 
she murmured, you have all the| instructions of the 
holy Aristotle, and you can pull down Latin as I used 
to pull down the chestnuts at Castel Gandolfo — but 
you are just a baby in arms when it comes to serious 
things like food and drink. If I were not with you, 
you would be dead in a month. Rinaldo thinks he 
and Giannella will get me to live with them. Not a 
bit of it. They can take care of each other, the 
Madonna assisting them, and I will continue to pro- 
tect this unfortunate man of learning till one of us is 
taken to San Lorenzo.” 

The evening was still young and Rinaldo thought 
he would go and listen to the music in Piazza Colonna 
for a little, so he made his way thither, guided by the 
strains of “ Semiramide ” which were ringing out over 
the otherwise silent city. Piazza Colonna was the fa- 
vorite gathering place at this hour for citizens of the 
better class who were not able to get away to the 
country; as he turned into the square he saw it was 
already crowded with groups sitting before the cafes 

as well as with an ever-moving stream of pedestrians 
16 


GIANNELLA 


238 

taking leisurely exercise in the open space round the 
bandstand. He found a seat by one of the little mar- 
ble-topped tables, ordered the popular orzata,'' a 
milky-looking beverage of almond syrup and iced bar- 
ley water, and, drawing out his notebook, read over 
the indications he had copied into it. The name Gug- 
lielmo De Sanctis, was a common though quite re- 
spectable one; there must be at least a hundred De 
Sanctises in and around Rome ; but the address, a sec- 
ond floor in a fashionable street, denoted that the gen- 
tleman in question was doing finely in his business, a 
fact which, Rinaldo thought, argued well for his char- 
acter. He decided to call upon him the next morning, 
and then fell to considering, how best to put his rather 
difficult case; 

While the active part of his consciousness was thus 
employed, the other, the artistic one, was. enjoying the 
charming scene before him. The great square, front- 
ing on the Corso and sloping gently up to the majestic 
fagade of the General Post Office at the farther end, 
lay under the dark night sky, fringed by a many-ringed 
circle of lights twinkling and intermingling in a soft 
golden glow. From the center the sculptured shaft of 
Marcus Aurelius’ triumphal column shot up till its 
crown was lost in darkness; the fountains near it 
poured their cool sheets of water, gemmed with bor- 
rowed stars, into the marble basins, with a rhythmical 
splash that .made a pleasant under-theme to the full 
music of the band; and every pause in the music was 
filled with talk and laughter from, the audience, de- 
lighted with the unexpected coolness after a stifling 
day. The women looked charmingly pretty in their 


GIANNELLA 


239 


embroidered muslins and pale summer silks, and these 
were diversified by the rather theatrical uniforms of 
the French officers who, conscious of their exalted mis- 
sion of protecting the Holy Father, swaggered happily 
about the city in those days, loving and beloved and 
blissfully unwitting of history to be. 

The humming stream of humanity passed and re- 
passed before Rinaldo’s eyes, momentarily eclipsing 
the pearl and silver of the fountains and then parting 
to let it shine forth again. Overhead the sky was a 
dome of shadows; neither moon nor star shot a ray 
through the darkness which, with the sudden cooling 
of the air, presaged some portentous change of 
weather. Rinaldo was taking in all the attractions of 
the scene, but such spectacles meant to him very much 
what they do to the rest of his countrymen — pleas- 
ant accessories of existence, but too familiar to merit 
any special attention, except from luckless foreigners 
who, of course, coming from sad lands where the sun 
never shone, where the grapes did not grow, where 
there were no pretty women to admire, no saints to 
invoke and no feastdays to enjoy, naturally went mad 
with delight on finding themselves in a country pro- 
vided with these necessaries of life, and talked a lot of 
nonsense about Italy and the Italians, unconscious that 
the latter epithet is one which every Roman indig- 
nantly rejects. Italy ’’ ceases with the frontiers of 
Tuscany, which have the honor of bordering on the 
papal states themselves, the setting of the city which 
is the jewel of the world. To the south, below her 
feet, as it were, comes the “ Regno,” the kingdom of 


240 


GIANNELLA 


the two Sicilies, in due subordination. All is — or 
rather was in Rinaldo’s day — as it should be, and as 
it undoubtedly would be for ever and ever. All this 
the benighted foreigner could not be expected to un- 
derstand, and he was forgiven his ignorance in con- 
sideration of the welcome addition to public and pri- 
vate revenues furnished by his lavish expenditure. 
Rinaldo Goffi in particular had much reason to bless 
him as an easily satisfied patron of the arts, for most 
of his pretty genre pictures, not very original but pleas- 
antly delicate in color and correct in drawing, found 
tfieir way to other lands. He had just put the last 
touches to the venerable prelate who was going to sup- 
ply him and Giannella with furniture, and was calcu- 
lating how soon it would be safe to have him packed 
for shipment. 

“ Day after to-morrow, perhaps, if it does not rain,’’ 
he was thinking, when a young man detached himself 
from the crowd and bore down upon him with the 
alertness of a dog recognizing its master. It was little 
Peppino Sacchetti, who, with his bright eyes, dark 
complexion and quick movements, always suggested 
the appearance of a black-and-tan terrier in gay tail- 
wagging mood. 

‘‘How goes it, Nalduccio?” he inquired as he 
dragged a chair close to that of his friend. “ I was 
looking for you, my son. I have not seen you for 
days. Have you been finishing his Eminence — or 
preparing a cup of coffee ^ for the old gentleman who 
gave you such a turn that Friday?” 

1 Synonym for poison. 


GIANNELLA 


241 


‘‘ Both, Peppino,’' Rinaldo replied, but the coffee 
is only a mora dose, and the most saintly of cardinals 
would endorse the prescription.” 

‘‘ You will have to put it by to cool, then,” Peppino 
declared ; ‘‘ we are all going to be wanted very shortly. 
The river is out on the Prati,^ and if I am not mis- 
taken, Ripetta will be a canal before the end of the 
week.” 

But it has hardly rained yet,” Rinaldo objected, 
looking up at the sky ; and I was hoping it would 
hold off for a day or two longer to let my picture 
dry.” 

“ You should have spoken to Santa Ribiana ^ about 
it,” said Peppino. ‘‘ It seems to be all arranged now. 
The Senate sent us word to hold ourselves and our 
boats in readiness for a call at any moment. It has 
been raining in the hills, and Tiber and Anio are both 
over their banks for miles. They may flood the cam- 
pagna to Ostia if they like — one is so thankful for 
this coolness.” 

There won’t be much coolness for us if the boats 
are called out,” Rinaldo remarked with a wry face. 

Do you remember the last flood? We worked for 
twenty-four hours on end. I began to have some 
sympathy for the poor devils of convicts at the gal- 
leys.” 

Peppino laughed at his friend’s dismay. It all 
amuses me,” he said ; one saw such funny sights. I 
shall never forget that poor priest floating down the 
Corso to his church with his feet in buckets. Do 

1 Low-lying meadows near the Vatican. 

2 Patron saint of rain. 


242 


GIANNELLA 


you remember how well he balanced himself with his 
umbrella ? And the old woman who called to us from 
a window to take her daughter-in-law away and drown 
her? They had been quarrelling like two furies, and 
the daughter-in-law came behind her and tried to 
pitch her out ! How we laughed ! ” 

Rinaldo smiled at the recollection; then he rose to 
go. There is one thing I must do to-morrow morn- 
ing,” he said, “ whatever happens ; so I shall not be 
available for any boat work before midday. I think 
you are mistaken, Peppino. It is not going to rain 
here to-night, and I do not believe there will be much 
of a flood unless it does. In any case, of course I shall 
be ready to do my share, but please manage not to 
have me sent for before noon.” 

‘‘ What is this tremendously important business ? ” 
Peppino asked. Perhaps I could help you with it.” 
But Rinaldo slipped off into the crowd. The only 
way to keep a secret from Peppino was to run away 
from him. He had no reticences about his own af- 
fairs and possessed a marvelously successful curiosity 
concerning those of others. 

The next morning fulfilled his prophecy and broke 
in sheets of rain. Rinaldo, however, set out manfully 
and arrived at Signor De Sanctis’s door precisely at 
ten o’clock. He sent in his card — a thing of beauty 
penned with many flourishes by his own hand — re- 
questing the favor of an interview on a matter of 
urgent importance. The lawyer received him coolly 
enough, for Rinaldo in his second best clothes and 
soaked boots did not look like a money-bringing client. 


GIANNELLA 


243 


The coolness froze to hostility when the young man, 
in all good faith, disclosed the object of his visit. 
Would Signor De Sanctis tell him anything of the 
business which had brought him to call on Professor 
Bianchi, and in what way was the Signorina Brock- 
mann connected with it? 

De Sanctis leaned back in his chair and eyed Rinaldo 
with scorn. Did Signor — he glanced contemptuously 
at the card on the table — ah, Goffi, Signor Goffi, im- 
agine that the affairs of clients were to be revealed to 
unknown inquirers? Who did the visitor take him 
for that he should venture to insult him with such a 
request ? 

Rinaldo saw that he had begun at the wrong end of 
the skein. He hastened to assure the incensed gentle- 
man that nothing was further from his thoughts than 
such transgression ; that the delicacy and honor of the 
distinguished avvocato De Sanctis were so well known 
that only to him, of all the legal lights in Rome, 
would it be possible to confide what he was about to 
relate; and he added that he was equally sure that 
no one else could explain the extraordinary and mys- 
terious change which had come over Bianchi and 
which was afflicting his family and friends so deeply. 

De Sanctis began to lf>ok interested; his suspicion 
that Rinaldo was illicitly trying to ascertain the figure 
of the young lady’s dowry was allayed by the im- 
portance given to the Professor. 

But what is this afflicting change ? ” he asked. 

Signor Bianchi has the reputation of being a man of 
fixed habits and entire absorption in his studies. Do 


244 


GIANNELLA 


you mean that his mind is affected? If so, you must 
consult a physician. I am not an alienist/’ 

Then Rinaldo set himself to relate the facts, and 
very absurd they sounded. Here was an elderly de- 
votee of archaeological science who had, with many 
protests, permitted an orphan girl to live under his 
roof. More he had never done; some little earnings 
from her embroidery, and the charity of Signor Bian- 
chi’s kind-hearted cook had supplied all the rest. Be- 
yond giving her an order as he would to any servant. 
Signor Bianchi had hardly ever spoken to Giannella, 
who was the best and most beautiful girl in Rome. 

Too much excited to notice De Sanctis’s amused 
smile at this outburst of admiration, Rinaldo went on : 
‘‘ Behold, when she is nearly twenty-one, a certain 
distinguished lawyer calls upon the Professor and dis- 
courses with him at length. Before Ave Maria the 
next day Signor Bianchi has found out that Giannella 
is good, that Giannella is pretty, that Giannella cooks 
polpetti divinely, that Mariuccia really ought to buy 
her a new dress. There is another visit or two from 
the distinguished lawyer — and the Professor, who 
loves money so much that it is like drawing blood to 
get a few pauls from him for his own food, offers 
Mariuccia five baiocchi a day for Giannella’s board. 
And when Mariuccia, who is already stranissima,” 
worried to death with all these new caprices, tells him 
to go to the devil with his five baiocchi, why then, then, 
my dear sir, he says he is going to marry, marry Gian- 
nella, who has lived on his own servant’s charity and 
has not a scudo in the world ! Explain to me. Signor 


GIANNELLA 


245 


Avvocato, the conduct of this maniac! As the only 
friend of those two poor distracted women, I have a 
right to ask you.” 

De Sanctis stared at Rinaldo incredulously for sev- 
eral seconds after he had ceased speaking. Then, to 
the young man’s amazement, he burst into peals of 
laughter. Tears of merriment were running down his 
cheeks before he regained sufficient self-control to 
speak. Then he looked at Rinaldo (who was red 
with anger) and managed to say, “ And is that really 
all you know? You are not playing a joke on me? ” 
A joke? ” cried the artist hotly; '' if there is one 
you are alone in the enjoyment of it. I see no sub- 
ject for laughter in these distressing facts. Yes, that 
is all I know, except — ” 

‘‘ Except ? ” asked De Sanctis, with a fine return to 
his professional manner. 

Except this,” the other continued, that when 
Giannella refused his proposal with horror — Domine 
Dio, had she not reason ? — Bianchi went to the Sig- 
nora Principessa Santafede and persuaded her to take 
his side. And she sent for Giannella and Mariuccia 
and preached them each such a sermon that neither 
found a word to say, and Giannella has cried herself 
into a fever and says she was born to misfortune, and 
that if it is her destiny to marry Bianchi she will do 
her duty like a Christian and die of despair afterwards. 
Oh, Signor Avvocato, excuse me, but I cannot even 
think of it. If you have a heart, save us from all this 
misery.” 

Rinaldo’s head went down on the table and he 


246 


GIANNELLA 


sobbed like a Latin and a child — which mean the 
same thing, very often. 

De Sanctis reached over and patted his shoulder con- 
solingly. He was quite convinced now of the young 
man’s good faith, and also of the Professor’s perfidy. 

Do not afflict yourself. Signor Goffi,” he said; ‘‘ the 
affair is quite simple. Bianchi is not mad. On the 
contrary, he is very clever indeed. And the young 
lady shall marry ” — he smiled quizzingly as Rinaldo 
suddenly raised his head — shall marry a fine honest 
young man who is desperately in love with her. I am 
right, am I not? Are you sure, quite sure, that you 
want a wife who has not a scudo in the world, who 
will come to her wedding in the clothes that a poor 
old servant has given her? It is a serious thing, a 
wife — there is the future to think of — and, excuse 
my indiscreetness — you are perhaps not a rich man.” 

No,” cried Rinaldo, ‘‘ I am not, thank God. I 
have had no money to hoard, to worship, to cause my 
heart to dry up while I am still alive. But I have all 
the money I need to give that beautiful angel a home 
and happiness, and also to reward the best Christian 
I ever knew for her goodness to her. I have my art, 
my health, a little vigna outside the gates, and I will 
work for those two women as long as I live, I swear it 
to you. Signor De Sanctis! And may God abandon 
me and Our Lady refuse to intercede for me if I break 
my word ! ” 

Bravo,” said De Sanctis; and now I fear I must 
ask you to excuse me, for I have much to do to-day. 
If you will condescend to return — let me see — the 


GIANNELLA 


247 

day after to-morrow, I may perhaps have some consol- 
ing news for you.’’ 

‘'You are very good,” replied Rinaldo; “you will 
see Bianchi, you will bring him to reason? If he with- 
draws his proposal the Princess can have no more to 
say, and it is the scruple about opposing her which is 
causing the chief trouble. But I fear the Professor 
will not be easy to argue with.” 

“ I shall have no difficulty with him,” De Sanctis 
declared; “leave him to me. And meanwhile if you 
have the opportunity, try, on your part, to make the 
young lady understand that in this matter her destiny 
need not involve either martyrdom or suicide. These 
girls! Oh, you are taking the whole thing too seri- 
ously, Signor Goffi. They really enjoy a bit of tragedy 
if only they can play the saint to an admiring audience 
while they are acting it.” 

“ Giannella has no silly fancies of that kind,” Rinal- 
do replied hotly. “ Mariuccia tells me she never con- 
sidered the thing for a moment until that meddlesome 
old Princess undertook to poke her nose into matters 
she knew nothing about. Could you not see her first. 
Signor Avvocato, and make her change her mind? 
It would be easier to convince her than Bianchi.” 

De Sanctis had bounded in his chair at Rinaldo’s 
audacious words. Now he turned on him angrily, 
saying, “ I must insist that you speak of the most 
excellent Princess with proper respect. You will 
please to remember that she is a very noble and pious 
lady, whom I often have the honor to serve. Only 
Christian benevolence has led her to interest herself 


248 


GIANNELLA 


in the Signorina Brockmann’s establishment in life. 
From her point of view — and being, as I perceive 
she was, in ignorance of certain facts — a marriage 
with Bianchi must have appeared most advantageous 
for the girl. I take it that nothing was told her of 
your intentions in regard to the latter? No, of course 
not! That would have been too much to expect of 
‘ two poor distracted women.’ Well then, you see 
that they themselves left the Princess uninformed of 
an important aspect of the affair. If she condescends 
to remember the incident the next time she sends for 
me, all shall be explained to her ; but she will probably 
have forgotten all about it before she returns from 
Santafede. Persons in her rank of life have many 
weighty matters to occupy their minds.” De Sanctis 
swelled with importance as he spoke, and Rinaldo ac- 
cepted the snubbing and henceforth believed that the 
lawyer was the chief repository of the great lady’s con- 
fidence. ‘‘ And so have I! ” De Sanctis exclaimed, 
glancing at his watch. Santa Pazienza ! An hour 
and a-half have I been giving to your love affairs, my 
young friend. Now I must turn to serious things. 
Accidenti! The rain has it in mind to drown us all.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


T he next afternoon the Cardinal was dictating 
letters to his chaplain, who also acted as his sec- 
retary. A bad cold and the increasing rain were 
keeping him a prisoner. So he sat in the little crim- 
son-walled study, leaning back in his chair and deliver- 
ing his sentences in beautiful epistolary Italian, less 
like every-day colloquial than Horace is like Church 
Latin. The young priest bent over the table, writing 
for dear life, torn between his desire to keep up with 
the silver fluency of the speaker and his ambition to 
make the large page look like a lithographed example 
of perfect penmanship. 

The entrance of Domenico promised him a breath- 
ing space, but it was a vain hope. The Cardinal took 
no notice of the velvet- footed old man, and continued 
his dictation. Only when the chaplain rose and 
brought him the letter for inspection and signature did 
the master look up at his servant, with a lifting of the 
eyebrows which said, What is it? You may speak.” 

Eminenza, it concerns the subterraneans,” Domen- 
ico replied. “ The foreman says he will have to quit 
work, as a good deal of water is coming up through 
the drain.” 

Well then, they must quit,” the Cardinal replied, 
adding, with mild expostulation, It was not necessary 
249 


250 


GIANNELLA 


to come and inform me of that while I was seriously 
occupied, my son.” 

I would not have ventured to come in for that 
alone, Eminenza,” said the man, smiling mysteriously, 
‘‘ but there is something else. In digging to find out 
whether there was a leak in the chief conduit, they 
struck upon a little mound, bricked in, and when they 
opened it they found — ” 

‘‘The rest of the inscription?” exclaimed the Car- 
dinal, his eyes shining with anticipation. 

“ More than that, Eminenza. A statue ; yes, a 
statue ! Una bellezza ! ” And he looked down into 
his master’s face with the air of one announcing the 
conquest of the world. 

“ Is it possible ? ” cried the prelate, delighted out of 
his usual calm. “ Do you know what you are saying, 
Domenico ? Oh, it will be some Barocco horror 
thrown there out of the way. What is it, what is it? 
Speak.” 

“ How can I tell the Eminenza what it is ? I am 
too uninstructed,” the servant replied. “ But I went 
down to see, and I beheld in the hole a large figure 
with no head and one arm gone — but a fine piece of a 
man.” 

The Cardinal rose from his chair. “ I must go 
down at once,” he said ; “ the other letters can be writ- 
ten to-morrow.” This to the young priest who stood 
beside him. “ I must see for myself, immediately.” 
And he moved toward the door. 

Simultaneously the servant and the chaplain rushed 
after him, the latter laying a hand on his arm and 


GIANNELLA 


251 


Domenico placing himself before the door. “ For 
Heaven’s sake,” cried the younger man, let the Em- 
inenza not think of such a thing. The cold, the damp 
— it would be a most terrible imprudence.” 

Domenico took a still stronger stand. He held up 
his hand almost authoritatively and said, ‘‘ This is a 
risk not to be run. Let us send at once for Professor 
Bianchi. He will descend to these catacombs, will 
see, will comprehend all. Then, having made full in- 
spection, he will come up and tell us all about it. Is 
not this a better plan, Eminenza mia bella ? ” he con- 
cluded coaxingly. 

The Cardinal laughed, sighed and submitted. ‘‘ I 
suppose you are right, you two,” he said ; you keep 
me as the carabinieri keep a malefactor. As if it 
would have hurt me to go down for five minutes! 
But have your way. Send at once for the Signor Pro- 
fessore, however, and beg him to come at his earliest 
convenience. Oh, if it could be a true antique! But 
I dream — who am I to deserve such good fortune, 
such honor? ” 

The Professor sent a fiowery note in answer to the 
summons from Palazzo Cestaldini. He would have 
the honor of waiting upon the Cardinal in the morning, 
and he thanked him from his heart for permitting a 
humble seeker after knowledge to share the joy of dis- 
covery with him. 

All that night, as the rain beat down with ever-in- 
creasing violence, the two learned men slept fitfully, 
dreaming of Greek perfection, turning, even as they 
looked at it, into some bit of degenerate Roman work, 


252 


GIANNELLA 


a coarse, fulsome likeness, with a removable marble 
wig and beard! Then they would wake to hear the 
rattle of rain in the streets, the bubbling of unauthor- 
ized fountains; and the Professor would shiver with 
fear lest the reported treasure should be buried, per- 
haps swept away, in mud; and the Cardinal would 
fold his beautiful hands over his rosary and pray to 
be delivered from all undue love of terrestrial things. 
Giannella, poor child, read over the Princess’s letter 
for the twentieth time, trying to invalidate its solemn, 
well-worded arguments and failing to quite succeed; 
and Rinaldo, wide awake too, paced up and down his 
studio, looked out every few minutes to see if the 
clouds were not breaking, and called down a monoton- 
ous string of curses, all ending with apoplexy, on the 
heartless elements which were keeping his painted 
cardinal too moist to pack, and would certainly prevent 
his seeing Mariuccia in the church next morning to ex- 
change tidings and sympathy. 

When he looked down in the gray of the morning, 
the little court and street beyond were sheeted in 
water. Three months’ heat and drought were being 
atoned for in the torrential downpour. All over the 
lower part of the city the sewers were throwing up 
volumes of muddy liquid choked back from its cus- 
tomary outlets by the rise in the river. On the front 
porch of San Sever ino no picket of mendicants was 
stationed to-day. When Fra Tommaso came down to 
open the doors not even the privileged cripple was 
there to lift the curtain for him. The old sacristan 
stood under the portico and surveyed the street with 


GIANNELLA 


253 


a troubled face. Libera nos, Domine ! ’’ he mur- 
mured as he turned back into the church. Fiat Vol- 
untus Tua, yes, Lord, but oh, please, of Your Conde- 
scension, do not send any dying calls to-day. That 
time, five years ago, when the big flood came, and the 
priest and the boy and I — and the Santissimo — Do- 
mine Dio, shall I ever forget it ? — were almost tipped 
out of the boat at that corner by the bridge. Oh, 
not to-day, please, dear Lord. The poor souls could 
not get to You through the rain — and think of the 
angels’ wings all wet. If any are to die, please let 
' them wait a day or two, and come to judgment dry at 
least.” 

In the Professor’s household consternation reigned, 
for the padrone announced that he would get to Palaz- 
zo Cestaldini — if he had to swim there. And Mari- 
uccia, racked with anxieties, did not display her usual 
energy in opposing him. Giannella, shocked out of 
her absorption in her own affairs, took it upon herself 
to beg him to consider his precious health and safety, 
and to remain at home. This evidence of interest 
greatly pleased her elderly wooer and emboldened him 
to pat her on the cheek and tell her that after next 
week, when they were married, he would always listen 
to her advice, but now he really must go out. Would 
she bring him his thickest boots? 

Giannella, scarlet and resentful, rushed back to the 
kitchen, and Mariuccia brought him the boots, soles 
uppermost,., while she pointed in grim silence at a large 
hole in one of them. But the Professor pretended not 
to see it, and five minutes later he was out in the piazza. 


254 


GIANNELLA 


his umbrella turned inside out, his big cloak ballooning 
into black wings around him, his eyeglasses rendered 
useless by streams of water, but his will sternly set on 
reaching Palazzo Cestaldini as soon as possible. After 
a few laments over his obstinacy the two women up- 
stairs relapsed into silence, and all was very quiet on 
the fourth floor, as the morning dragged its wet 
length on. 

It went yet more slowly for Rinaldo. Twenty-four 
hours had passed since his interview with De Sanctis, 
and although the lawyer had told him nothing, yet he 
had comforted him greatly, and Rinaldo longed to im- 
part some of that comfort to Giannella. He was the 
more anxious to do this at once because the flood was 
evidently assuming serious proportions and he might 
at any moment be called upon to take his place in the 
ranks of helpers to save property and distribute pro- 
visions. It was now ten o’clock, but the storm was 
laying a pall of darkness over the city, and the damp- 
ness crept up even to the studio on the roof with a chill 
sufficient to terrify the fever-fearing Roman. Ri- 
naldo, ruefully contemplating yesterday’s boots, soak- 
ing and shapeless, and the second best suit still limp 
and damp on its peg, rapidly calculated the chances of 
gaining admittance should he go boldly to Bianchi’s 
door and ask for Mariuccia. His last experiences in 
that way had been memorably disagreeable, and in 
the diminution of martial spirit caused by the gray, 
wet morning, Rinaldo rather shrank from repeating 
them. Yet he was consumed with anxiety lest Gian- 
nella, her powers of resistance also lessened by illness 


GIANNELLA 


255 


and by the general depression, should select this day, 
of all days, to immolate herself on the altar of phan- 
tom duty, obey the Principessa, and consent to espouse 
Bianchi. That once done, who could tell how things 
would turn out ? She was a northerner by blood, and 
Rinaldo had heard that northerners were dreadfully in 
earnest about trifles like promises ; she might consider 
her given word as too binding to be recalled. Yes, he 
must see Giannella at once ; that risk was not to be run. 
Grumbling at Themistocles, who sat, sulky and drag- 
gled, on the mustard-colored head of the lay figure, he 
pulled on his wet boots and descended the staircase, 
where walls and steps were oozing with moisture. At 
the lower entrance he paused and looked up and down 
the street. Across the way old Sora Rosa had re- 
moved her perishable wares and stood on her door- 
step, so far carried out of her usual saturnine impas- 
siveness as to be Wringing her hands and cursing vol- 
ubly. When she saw Rinaldo about to brave the ele- 
ments she called out to him to go back, out of danger. 
The Tiber was out; the municipal guards had been 
round to warn all who lived on ground floors to move 
as quickly as possible — no one could say how high 
the water would rise. 

But Rinaldo flourished his umbrella valiantly, 
plunged out, slipped and found himself ankle deep in 
the muddy stream. Regaining the sidewalk he strug- 
gled along towards the Piazza Santafede. It was hard 
work to get there, but never mind, all the more reason 
for pressing on. The Bianchi apartment was so high 
up that its denizens were far beyond the reach of 


GIANNELLA 


256 

danger, but the women might be frightened — there 
were terrible stories of what the river could do when 
its temper was roused; or, they might be in need of 
provisions; that blessed old Professor would not be 
much of a help to them. 

These thoughts helped to tide him over the rough 
crossing where both the piazza and the Via Tresette 
were sending their torrents down the Via Santafede 
to the still lower level of Ripetta. Rinaldo reached 
the farther side, drenched and half blinded by the rain, 
which seemed to come from every direction at once, 
and grasped at the iron chains which swung between 
truncated pillars all round the old palace. He took 
one look at the well-known window. Sure enough, 
there was Mariuccia peering out, deepest anxiety writ- 
ten on her countenance, scanning the Via Santafede 
from end to end. Rinaldo waved a hand to attract 
her attention. She saw and recognized him immedi- 
ately. He could see that she was speaking though no 
words came to him through the rattle of the rain, but 
her face lighted up and she beckoned to him beseech- 
ingly. How fortunate that he had been so courageous 
as to come. 

Still clinging to the helpful chains, he reached the 
palace entrance and paused to survey a strange scene. 
Wetness and confusion reigned everywhere, horses 
were neighing and kicking in the flooded stables, and 
resisting the harassed grooms who were trying to lead 
them out. The young Prince, with some other gen- 
tlemen, was actually attempting to coax one beautiful 
animal up the grand staircase, a promotion for which 


GIANNELLA 


257 


it evidently had no desire ; and, a few steps further up, 
stood an irate woman, the Princess’s housekeeper, fran- 
tically forbidding the indecent sacrilege. Every time 
she waved her arms and shouted her protests the nerv- 
ous, high-spirited hunter danced and shied, and finally 
began to rear and paw the air in menacing fashion. 
The Prince, scarlet with anger, quieted him down, 
called a red-headed groom to hold his head, and then, 
dashing up the steps, seized the woman in his arms, 
dragged her down the steps and flung her into the 
porter’s lodge opposite, where he turned the key on 
her! She stood behind the glass door, battering it 
with her fists and weeping copiously. The way being 
now clear, the horse was induced to try it, and finding 
that the red velvet carpet afforded comfortable foot- 
hold, mounted, with his excited bodyguard, and the 
whole group, chattering and laughing, disappeared 
round the first turn of the stairs. 

Much amused at this comedy, Rinaldo climbed to 
the Professor’s apartment and found Mariuccia wait- 
ing for him on the landing. 

‘‘ Figlio mio bello,” she cried, “ thank Heaven you 
have come. But, for you — what craziness to venture 
through this deluge I You are half drowned, poverino. 
Come in and dry your clothes, and then tell me what 
to do, for we are in despair about the padrone. He 
went off this morning soon after eight o’clock, and I 
know he will never get back again. That man cannot 
be trusted to take care of himself. I am sure he will 
come to some harm.” 

Rinaldo stared at her, forgetting his own discom- 


258 


GIANNELLA 


fort, his anxieties about Giannella, everything, in his 
amazement at her speech. What? ” he cried, “ you 
are trembling — I do believe, crying — over what may 
happen to that selfish old cataplasm of a Professor? 
Madonna mia, you women are inexplicable. It would 
be a good thing if he never came back at all.’^ 

Mariuccia glared at him for one instant, then dealt 
him a sounding box on the ear. “ Infamous one,” she 
screamed, ‘‘ you dare to wish death to my padrone ? 
Oh, may you and your best dead — ” 

But the curse never descended, for Giannella, pale 
and terrified, suddenly parted the combatants, drag- 
ging Mariuccia away and waving Rinaldo back with 
an imploring gesture ; to tell the truth, he was furiously 
angry, and his flashing eyes and clenched fists seemed 
to indicate that he might so far forget himself as to 
return the blow. At sight of the girl he loved, look- 
ing so pitiful in her fear and distress, all his anger 
left him, and he held out his hands, saying contritely, 
“ It is nothing, Giannella mia, I spoke like a fool, an 
animal. Sora Mariuccia must forgive me. I wish no 
harm to her padrone — quite the contrary, for I wish 
he were more worthy of her faithfulness. Happy he, 
to have such a valiant defender ! ” 

Come in, come in,” Giannella replied. ‘‘ Holy 
Charity, you are wet through. What a terrible day. 
Mariuccia mia, I am sure Signor Goffi did not mean 
what he said just now, and he has been so brave to 
come to us through this dreadful storm — won’t you 
bring him in near the fire and give him some coffee? 
And then, perhaps, he will find out where the padrone 


GIANNELLA 


259 


is and bring him back to us. Oh, but we have been 
so unhappy about him,” she continued, turning her 
serious eyes to Rinaldo, you do not know. If any- 
thing were to happen to him we should never get over 
it.” 

‘‘ You too,” Rinaldo murmured as he followed her 
and Mariuccia (silent and mollified now) into the 
passage. “ Well,” he reflected, “ it is said that he who 
understands women understands all things. I re- 
nounce the attempt.” He was slightly nettled at the 
calmness with which Giannella had taken command 
of the situation, vouchsafing him no single glance 
which showed her consciousness of their own enchant- 
ing secret. He did not notice that her cheeks were no 
longer pale, but of a deep pink, and that her voice was 
uncertain, as if with the effort to repress some strong 
emotion. Her actions at any rate were prompt and 
business-like. Having led the way to the kitchen, 
where the charcoal fire made a pleasant glow in the 
unnatural gloom, she pushed Mariuccia down into one 
of the old straw-bottomed chairs, set the other near 
the range for Rinaldo, got his wet coat away from him 
with a turn of the hand, and made him slip on an old 
jacket of Bianchi’s; then she poured out a cup of 
steaming coffee, produced a ciambella to accompany 
it, and disappeared. She returned in a moment with 
a pair of slippers and some much-darned green socks, 
which last she warmed at the fire while Rinaldo drank 
his coffee and wondered what she meant to do with 
them — and him. 

She turned round, the socks rolled up between her 


26 o 


GIANNELLA 


hands, and offered them to him with the slippers, all 
in the most collected way, as if she had ministered 
to his wants for the last twenty years. He started 
back, flushing furiously, for feet, as a subject, are al- 
most as improper in Rome as in China; and besides, 
all this was painfully unlike the tenderly romantic 
meeting he had dreamed of. Was she never going 
to look into his eyes and let him see that she remem- 
bered who he was? 

She came close to him and still he sat silent, gazing 
up hungrily into her face. Ah, there it came, the 
mantling color, the quivering of the lips, the lowering 
of the eyelids as if to veil some too bright flame. 

“ Take them, signorino,” she said, speaking huskily 
and holding the things out to him, excuse that they 
are old. You can go into the other room and put 
them on. You will catch cold — like this — I am 
afraid — ” 

But she did not finish the sentence. Rinaldo sud- 
denly caught her two hands in his and hid his face in 
them, kissing her fingers, the socks, and her soft little 
palms with an indiscriminate adoration, with an aban- 
donment of joyful passion which touched the girl’s 
whole being to fire. It seemed in that moment that 
her life and his were fused into one triumphant es- 
sence, steeped in glory. 

Mamma mia,” wailed a forgotten voice from very 
far away, from the window, in fact, where Mariuccia 
had several minutes earlier resumed her watch for 
her lost lamb, ‘‘ it gets worse and worse. It would 
take Sant’ Antonio and his mantle to get across the 


GIANNELLA 


261 

street now. Oh, where is my poor little padrone ? 

She turned back into the room with a tragic sweep 
of the arm, as if asking the question of two young 
people, who stood several feet apart, with some 
strange-looking objects on the floor between them. 

It was now twelve o’clock and Mariuccia insisted on 
getting Rinaldo some dinner ; and then, his coat being 
a little drier, she suggested that he should at once 
start on his search for the missing Professor, who 
had said that he was only going to Palazzo Cestaldini 
and would come home for his dinner. 

“ Palazzo Cestaldini ? ” Rinaldo replied ; that is 
only a short way from here, but there will be difficulty 
in traversing the distance now without a boat. The 
Cardinal has surely kept the Signor Professore with 
him.” 

I cannot be certain,” Mariuccia persisted ; “ the 
padrone is — well, obstinate, and when he wants to 
come home he will come or try to — and then he will 
get into trouble. Do go out and look for him, sig- 
norino.” 

But, Mariuccia, how can you ? ” Giannella pro- 
tested indignantly. ‘‘ The signorino can do nothing 
— and he may be drowned. Oh, pray do not go out,” 
she exclaimed, clasping her hands and looking at Ri- 
naldo imploringly. Something had evidently removed 
the padrone from the foreground of her thoughts. 

Her anxiety for himself so filled her lover with de- 
light that he felt inspired for any exploit. “Of course 
I will go,” he cried ; “ nothing can drown me ! I can 
swim like a fish ; and it is only a pleasure to serve you. 


262 


GIANNELLA 


Sora Mariuccia. If a boat is needed I dare say I can 
find some of my friends to help me. Ah, what is 
that? ” 

A sound of laughter and of oars beating the water 
came up through the open window. Three heads 
were out in a moment, and then Rinaldo hailed Pep- 
pino and some other youths who, with many bumps 
and splashes, had just steered two shallow punts into 
the Via Santafede from the Ripetta. ‘‘ Hi, boys ! ” 
he shouted, “ wait for me, I must come with you. 
Round to the portone in the piazza, Peppino.” 

Make haste then,’’ was the reply ; we are out on 
duty. One of the bridges is gone, Ripetta is a sea, 
and the water is two feet deep in Piazza Navona. 
Hurry ! ” 

Rinaldo dashed off and flew down the long flights 
of stairs. One boat went round to meet him, while 
the other continued on its way to Piazza Navona, the 
chief market-place of the city. Five minutes later a 
boat shot down again towards Ripetta, and Rinaldo 
nearly dropped a paddle in the effort to kiss his hand 
to the two heads still leaning out of the fourth-floor 
window, one grizzled and dark as fate, the other 
golden and lovely as hope’s young dream. 

When he was out of sight the women were silent 
for a little, then Giannella’s face sank down on her 
old friend’s shoulders, and Mariuccia put her arms 
round her and comforted her quite tenderly, for the 
poor child was shivering with fear for her lover. 

Why did you send him ? ” she wailed ; '' he will surely 
be drowned.” She had never seen a flood before ex- 


GIANNELLA 


263 


cept from the safe heights of the convent villa, and it 
seemed terrible that her Rinaldo, so dear and beautiful 
and young, should have to face its dangers. 

‘‘ Hush, cocca mia,” crooned the old woman, ‘‘ noth- 
ing will happen to him. Those boys are as safe in 
the water as on land. I wish I had asked him to bring 
us some bread — there is not a scrap left — and that 
was the last of the wine.” 

Take some of the padrone’s then,” said Giannella 
vindictively ; ‘‘ he has cost enough to-day, dragging 
that poor, brave boy out into such perils to look for 
him. He shall pay in bread and wine at least.” 


CHAPTER XX 


T he avvocato De Sanctis lived in the Via Con- 
dotti, on higher ground by some feet than the 
other end of the Ripetta. About the time when Bian- 
chi, fired with enthusiasm, was wading joyfully to- 
wards Palazzo Cestaldini, the lawyer issued from his 
door with the same goal in view. He had business 
with the Cardinal’s maestro di casa concerning some 
houses in the suburbs, his Eminence’s property, of 
which the leases were expiring, and which would re- 
quire repairs before fresh contracts could be signed. 
One secret of De Sanctis’s success in his profession 
was his very un-Italian habit of attending to each de- 
tail as it came up, whenever that was possible. He 
was sure that the bad weather would keep clients away 
to-day, and, undeterred by it himself, set out to clear 
one piece of business off his crowded list. Of course 
there was not a cab in sight, but he persevered, keep- 
ing to the higher levels till it was necessary to strike 
off to the right to reach the back entrance of Palazzo 
Cestaldini, which the Professor had also fortunately 
recollected, thus avoiding the “ sea ” which, as Pep- 
pino had assured Rinaldo, had already taken possession 
of the long street which forms the southern bank of 
the Tiber. 

Signor Bianchi had been warmly welcomed by the 
Cardinal, who was feeling very unwell, poor gentle- 
264 


GIANNELLA 


265 


man; a fact which he concealed from his guest, merely 
saying that he regretted not being able to accompany 
him on his search and thanking him for being willing 
to undertake it in such unfavorable circumstances. He 
conscientiously pointed out that Bianchi was commit- 
ting an imprudence in doing so; the vaults were al- 
ways damp, and just now probably some inches under 
water. But the Professor made light of his warnings 
and begged to be allowed to descend at once. Many 
valuable fragments had been found in and around the 
palace, which, like so many others, was largely built 
out of ancient and mediaeval remains : a headless male 
figure, the head was probably close by — perhaps he 
himself would find it! So two workmen were sum- 
moned to accompany him with picks and lanterns, and 
a few minutes later he was in his element, grubbing 
about in the vast dark crypt, regardless of time, 
weather, hunger, or any of the other conditions which 
call a halt to humanity in everyday life. 

He had been thus employed for some hours when 
the avvocato De Sanctis, having ended his business 
with the maestro di casa, inquired if he might have 
the honor of paying his respects to the Cardinal. He 
was much attached to the kind prelate, whom he re- 
garded as very good company, and who in his turn felt 
sincere affection for the hard-working young lawyer 
who had attained success without ceasing to be an hon- 
est Christian. 

This morning, however, the Cardinal received him 
with a slight expression of amusement. He had felt 
feverish the evening before; his anxious attendants 


266 


GIANNELLA 


had hastily summoned his doctor, who had adminis- 
tered some of the heroic remedies with which the local 
pharmacopoeia bristled in those prehistoric days; and 
the Cardinal thought that the doctor and the rest, be- 
lieving his life to be in danger, had followed his gen- 
eral directions that on the first hint of such a possibil- 
ity his confessor and his man of business were to be 
sent for without a moment’s delay. The confessor, 
Padre Anselmo, from San Severino, had not appeared, 
but here was De Sanctis, doubtless prepared to receive 
his expiring instructions. When De Sanctis, after 
kissing his patron’s ring, explained that having had to 
call on professional affairs, he availed himself of the 
opportunity to inquire after the illustrious health, the 
Cardinal smiled indulgently. 

Figlio mio,” he said, “ I know all about these kind 
little accidental visits. The doctor, and my chaplain, 
and that good old servant of mine, thought that I was 
in danger, that the discovery of a statue in the cellar 
had excited my nerves and brought on fever. So 
they summoned you to attend my deathbed. I am 
surprised at not having yet received a visit from Padre 
Anselmo, but they probably thought I could attend 
to spiritual matters better when earthly ones were off 
my mind. Kind souls, I am grateful to you all, and 
I trust that when I am in extremis you will comfort 
me with your presence, but I think I shall be allowed 
to give you plenty of trouble yet. I feel much better 
this morning, though naturally a little weakened by our 
distinguished physician’s prescriptions. At my age, 
Guglielmo, one cannot be freely bled, and dosed with 


GIANNELLA 


267 


quinine and palma christi, without certain remorses of 
nature making themselves felt.’’ He laid two fingers 
delicately on his broad red waistbelt to indicate the 
region of physical contrition, but as I said, I am 
much better this morning, in spite of the terrible 
weather.” 

It gives me happiness to hear that, Eminenza,” 
De Sanctis replied, ‘‘ for I was grieved to learn, on 
my arrival here, of your Eminence’s indisposition. 
Word of an honest man, that was the first I heard of 
it. No one sent for me on that account. But the 
Eminenza must be very careful for the next few days. 
The flood will cause much sickness in the town, 
and the damage done is already great. I have noted 
with satisfaction that this respected palace was built 
with forethought for such emergencies, the whole 
level of the courtyard being considerably higher than 
that of the street.” 

An arrangement I have often murmured at,” the 
Cardinal said, for the steep incline under the portone 
makes the horses slip, and the coachman objects to 
waiting there. However, in times like these one ap- 
preciates the necessity of it. He is a treacherous 
neighbor, Sor Tevere. There is already a good deal 
of water in the cellars, Domenico says, and I fear that 
poor Professor Bianchi is exposing himself to catch 
a bad cold.” 

“ Professor Bianchi, Eminenza ? ” De Sanctis 
pricked up his ears. Is he in the vaults ? ” 

‘‘ Where else ? ” replied the Cardinal, turning on him 
a glance of mild surprise ; “ naturally he is examin- 


268 


GIANNELLA 


ing the statue. It is my misfortune that I cannot be 
at his side, but Heaven’s will be done. See, I have 
just received this note from him.” And he handed 
a scrap of paper to the lawyer. Scribbled on it was 
these words : Probably a Hermes. Graeco-Roman. 

Fine preservation. Seeking for head.” 

As De Sanctis read, his eyes began to gleam with 
suppressed humor. His familiar little demon of mal- 
ice was whispering in his ear. He rose to take his 
leave, and the Cardinal, who had been watching the 
sheets of rain slipping down the window-panes, turned 
to him, saying, ‘‘ Yes, go home, my son, for unless 
you do that quickly you will have difficulty in reaching 
your house.” 

Is there anything I can do for the Eminenza 
first ? ” De Sanctis inquired. 

‘‘ Only this,” said the Cardinal, '' I shall be much 
obliged if you will be so kind as to speak to the Pro- 
fessor and beg him, with my compliments, to consider 
his health and desist from further work in that damp 
spot, for the present. Please say, however, that I trust 
he will honor me with another visit before taking his 
departure.” 

‘‘ Your Eminence shall be obeyed,” De Sanctis re- 
plied. “ But may I venture to remind you that if he 
returns upstairs and the flood increases, he may have 
to stay here all day. That would be a great fatigue 
for the Eminenza, I fear.” 

‘‘Fatigue?” The Cardinal’s fine face lighted up 
as he spoke. “ No, indeed. A pleasure, a rare pleas- 
ure. We are two old enthusiasts, Guglielmo, and 


GIANNELLA 


269 


have a thousand subjects of interest to discuss. I 
know of no one whom I would rather have for my 
companion at such a time than that learned man. I 
sit at his feet — as a humble disciple. I reap instruc- 
tion as he speaks.” 

‘‘ Doubtless, doubtless,” the lawyer replied gravely. 

I will execute the commission at once.” 

As he sped down the stairs he laughed softly. It 
is not professional,” he told himself, ‘‘ but it will be 
great fun, and he really deserves a fright.” 

An hour later the Cardinal touched his handbell 
and Domenico’s wrinkled face at once appeared in the 
doorway. Is the Signor Professore still in the 
vaults ? ” the master inquired. ‘‘ Please go down and 
see. It is most imprudent for him to remain there 
any longer.” 

In ten minutes the servant returned, looking rather 
scared. Eminenza,” he said, ‘‘ the gentleman must 
have left without coming upstairs. It is impossible to 
go down into the vaults — they are full of water.” 

The Cardinal seemed disappointed. “ That is un- 
fortunate,” he said at last, but you need not be 
alarmed, my good Domenico. You know there is 
nothing there to be injured, the foundations are solid, 
and, thank Heaven,^ the statue cannot swim away. The 
Professor was right to leave at once — I hope he did 
not get a chill. Yes, you may bring my soup now, 
and then I will sleep a little.” As Domenico retired, 
his master shook his head over his own weakness. 

Paolo mio,” he told himself, “ you are a very im- 
perfect kind of creature. You are really disappointed 


270 


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because you have been cheated of hearing all Bianchi 
had to say about the discovery. What children we all 
are — clamoring for our playfellows and turning 
sulky when we are deprived of them.” 

The vaults of Palazzo Cestaldini were much older 
than the dwelling itself, being the indestructible re- 
mains of an Imperial mausoleum which above ground 
had been partially overthrown in the course of cen- 
turies of fighting, and then unscrupulously utilized as 
material for the new palace. The vaults, deep and 
wide, ran the whole length of the frontage, and were 
dimly lighted by heavily grated windows some three 
feet above the level of the outer street. From within 
the space had the appearance of a subterranean church 
with windows set high up in the walls; from without, 
the few who were curious enough to look down 
through the bars could see only depths of darkness 
with here and there a corner of worn masonry catch- 
ing the light. From the ground, thirty feet below 
the windows, there rose on the street side a series of 
shallow steps, like tiers in an amphitheater; these ran 
the whole length of the wall and were surmounted 
by a narrow platform from which it was possible to 
look out on the upper world. In truth the crypt had 
been adapted by one of Paolo Cestaldini’s ancestors 
for spectacular purposes, the adjacent river, with its 
many conduits, providing all that was necessary for 
mimic aquatic shows. Later, in more troubled times, 
it had sheltered great numbers of fighting men, and 
the barred windows had been crowded with rough 
faces and picturesque costumes, and had served as 


GIANNELLA 


271 


loopholes and defenses in many a joyful riot. In 
these days the vaulted roofs were gray with cobwebs 
and dark with moisture. In one distant corner lay 
a pile of rococo plaster figures, used long ago for some 
carnival pageant and then flung aside, legs and arms 
interlaced and broken, to crumble into a gruesome re- 
semblance to blanched corpses deprived of burial. 

These melancholy surroundings struck chill on the 
lawyer’s humor as he descended the stairs and peered 
round for the Professor. Ah, there he was, down on 
his knees digging madly at, a mound of earth; one of 
his workmen had left him; the other was holding a 
lantern for him with evident impatience to be gone. 
Water was trickling and lapping somewhere, and 
everything underfoot was moist and slippery, but the 
Professor seemed unconscious of all but his quest. 
He stood up suddenly, one hand to his aching back, 
the other raised in triumph. ‘‘ The head ! ” he 
shouted. I can feel it through the mold. Nunc 
Dimittis ! ” And he went down on his knees again 
and began to remove the earth with extreme care, his 
face streaming with perspiration, his spectacles two 
shifting blots of light in the beams of the lantern. 

Suddenly this was set down with a clang and the 
workman flew past De Sanctis towards the exit. 

Come away!” he cried, pointing at the same time 
to the stairs, down which a thin, continuous sheet of 
water was flowing. ‘‘ The river is out at last. There 
will be a sea here in half-an-hour.” 

Rubbish,” replied De Sanctis, that is only the 
rain.” And he came stealthily to Bianchi’s side and. 


272 


GIANNELLA 


laying a heavy hand on his shoulder, bent down and 
said sternly, Signor Professore, what have you done 
with Giannella Brockmann’s money ? ” 

The Professor leaped to his feet with a scream and 
his pick fell from his hand. He stared in the lawyer’s 
face, his own sickly with fear. In the scant up-thrown 
rays of the lantern it was impossible to distinguish 
more than a pair of gleaming black eyes and an accus- 
ing scowl; the rest was dreadful shadow. 

But ere another word had been spoken a ripple of 
water broke round De Sanctis’s feet. ‘‘ Diamini, but 
he was right, that man ! ” he exclaimed ; and in an in- 
stant he too had dashed away towards the stairs. 

In that instant Bianchi had recognized him and 
breathed again. It was only De Sanctis, after all ; an 
inconvenient, intrusive person to whom unimportant 
matters could easily be explained some other time. 
Meanwhile he must hasten to uncover, and feast his 
eyes on, the marble head which he was certain lay close 
to his hand ; he must carry it up to the Cardinal him- 
self, if it were not too heavy. What a triumph that 
would be. Ah, gently — there showed a gleam of 
whitish surface. Hands now, not to injure the pre- 
cious thing. Doubled over, down on his knees, he 
worked like a demon, with blackened fingers and earth- 
choked nails, till at last it lay revealed, a calm immortal 
countenance gazing up at him with eyes that seemed to 
have been seeing in the grave ; full, closed lips smiling 
as if with Olympic scorn at the hopes and fears of 
perishable man. Some under-ripple of life seemed to 
be pulsing over the broad brow, the divinely moulded 


GIANNELLA 


273 

cheeks and chin. Bianchi sank back on his knees, his 
hands clasped, trembling with unbearable joy. 

Greek, Greek,” he whispered, as the saints have 
whispered prayers in ecstatic trances, “ purest Greek. 
There were but five or six in the whole world — I 
have found one more. Dio mio, Dio mio, let me not 
die of happiness.” 

He seized the light and bent tenderly to uncover the 
throat. Ah, there it was, the original severance; the 
cement still clung to it where it had been attached to 
the beautiful but far less ancient figure which lay 
prone in mutilated grandeur in the trench, some twenty 
yards away. The Professor bent closer still over the 
perfect thing, touching the creamy marble with his 
cheek, with his tongue, while he rubbed the mould 
off his fingers with his coat tails, his shirt front, any- 
thing to leave their sensitive tips free to feel the mar- 
velous surface, as different from that of the figure 
yonder as true old Sevres from modern imitation. Fra 
Tommaso was right; Bianchi could have told it in the 
dark, that touch of the creator’s chisel during the one 
short period of perfect sculpture our world has ever 
known, the touch which made every atom of the mar- 
ble its living vehicle, which gave the uneven yet flaw- 
less surface so closely resembling human flesh that the 
senses tell us it breathes and dimples with the very 
tide of life. Brought to Rome by Greece’s conquer- 
ors, fitted to a body wrought, at the command of an 
imperious ignorant master, by a Greek sculptor in cap- 
tivity, remembering through his tears the glories of 
Greece’s past — here was an immortal crown to which 


GIANNELLA 


274 

the stately figure had served as a humble pedestal. 
What wonder that Carlo Bianchi, in his passionate rev- 
erence for true art, trembled and worshiped, and shiv- 
ered with insane joy — while inch by inch the turbid wa- 
ters of the Tiber rose on the floor of his fane, poured 
in from the ten great windows high in the wall a hun- 
dred feet away, covered the statue in the trench and 
crept up the hollow at the foot of the stairs, gurgling 
pleasantly on the steps as it reached them one by one. 

When it had cut off retreat behind him it swam 
forward with a leap, broke over him where he knelt, 
drowned the white glory from his side and swept his 
extinguished lantern far beyond his reach. 

Then indeed he sprang to his feet. But they slipped 
from under him and he fell forward, his hand landing 
on the cold, submerged face. In a moment he was up 
again, wading through the fast-rising flood, stagger- 
ing towards the blackness which shrouded the stair- 
way. But long before he reached it the shelving 
ground was letting him down, down into the water, 
and at last he turned and struggled back in the direc- 
tion of the distant windows, gray blurs now upon an 
enormous pall of darkness, with something that caught 
a gleam of light flowing in and sliding over their 
edges. Again and again he fell, betrayed by the un- 
even ground and the swaying current. He was wet 
to the skin but he did not know it. For once in his 
semi-vitalized existence he was awake to all realities. 
He knew that unless he could attain to some higher 
level there would soon be another cold body lying 
among the antiquities in the crypt. 


GIANNELLA 


275 


As he fell for the third time and scrambled up with 
his mouth and eyes full of water, another reality, for- 
gotten in the joy of his discovery, and then in the fever 
of self-preservation, recurred to his mind. He re- 
membered Giannella, his all but fraudulent conceal- 
ment of her inheritance, his machinations to effect a 
marriage with her before she should learn of it. If 
he were to die (oh, horrid thought!) would not the 
Judge of souls ask him the same question that that 
brigand De Sanctis had asked, What have you done 
with Giannella Brockmann’s money ? ” Carlo Bian- 
chi could certainly say Domine Dio, it is all there I 
have not spent a penny of it yet. It is at interest in 
the Banco di Roma, three and a half per cent.” Then 
the Lord would say, All there, tw^o hundred scudi, 
and you have not let that poor child have the shoes 
she needs so badly? You have let Mariuccia, who has 
saved you money for twenty years, continue to work 
hard and eat little so as to share her wages with Gian- 
nella Brockmann? Miser, idolater, begone! My 
good San Pietro, have the kindness to take this sin- 
ner away and send him to hell at once.” 

Then it would be all over ; and Carlo Bianchi would 
have to roast, and gnash his teeth, and have nothing 
to look at for all eternity but ugly grinning devils. No 
beautiful angels with Greek heads and Roman — no, 
Graeco-Roman, bodies. Would the wings be strong 
enough to carry all that marble? Good God, he was 
going mad. And the water was up to his waist. One 
more fight he must make for life, for nice dry clothes, 
for Mariuccia^s golden fries, for his cigar and slip- 


276 


GIANNELLA 


pers and The Archceological Review after dinner. 
Also, of course, for the chance to undo the intended 
wrong to Giannella and get it erased from his account 
this side of judgment. He vowed miserably that if 
the mercy of God would but bring him safely out of 
this pit of destruction, his first act should be to tell 
Giannella everything and give her even the whole two 
hundred scudi to squander on shoes, ribbons, choco- 
lates, theaters, anything she liked. And (yes, the 
water was certainly getting deeper) he would promise 
not to marry her unless she were quite willing. 
Higher than that, human nature could not rise. 

When he had registered these generous vows he 
felt quite light-hearted as to eternity, and more con- 
fident of reaching physical safety. Now he was at 
the foot of the steps below the windows. Blessed 
steps. He had forgotten their existence. He scram- 
bled up them and sank down on one, exhausted and 
dripping, but above the level of the flood. There 
was just enough daylight here for him to see the 
perils he had escaped. He shivered as he looked 
back on the expanse of black choppy water lost in 
the shadows from which he had come. 

The sense of relief was great, but it was uncom- 
fortably tempered by finding that a thin sheet of 
liquid was flowing over his cold seat, from the win- 
dow above him, so he rose wearily and reached the 
window itself at last. Standing there clinging to 
the bars, he looked out at a changed upper world. 
The view seemed to embrace water everywhere. 
Well-known landmarks of old Ripetta, a pillar here, 


GIANNELLA 


277 


a battered statue there, a lamp-post all awry a little 
farther on — these seemed to be holding their own 
with difficulty in the shadow tossing stream which 
swept by, sending billow after billow through his 
opening and carrying past the strangest kind of flot- 
sam in its course. An open umbrella came dancing 
towards him like an evil bird with claws to its wings ; 
then a derelict hencoop from some poulterer’s shop, 
followed first by a wicker cradle and then by a float- 
ing island of cabbages and carrots sustaining a pair 
of old boots. Not a human being was in sight, and 
the poor prisoner’s heart sank within him, for he 
knew that only a speedy rescue could save him from 
the effects of the chill which already had him in its 
grip, causing his teeth to chatter pitifully. 

Suddenly he gave a shout, and waved an arm 
wildly through the bars. Far down the street a boat 
had appeared, a boat with three or four men in it, 
surely one of the rescue parties which never fail to 
give aid in these periodical calamities. Heaven had 
taken pity on him ; and at once he began to think that 
in his recent excitement he had promised Heaven too 
high a price for its mercies. Perhaps the arrange- 
ment would have to be revised; he must reflect seri- 
ously before permitting Giannella to embark on a 
course of extravagance and dissipation. 

Again he waved his arms and shouted to the boat. 
Oh horror, it was turning round — he could see its 
side rocking in the swirl of the current — it was 
heading the other way ! It was gone ! 


CHAPTER XXI 


aTT^HO is it that is missing ? ’’ Peppino had 
V V asked of Rinaldo as their boat was finally 
coaxed round the corner of Via Santafede into the 
Ripetta, shipping a good deal of muddy water in the 
process. 

Rinaldo did not reply till this was bailed out; 
then, straightening himself and resuming his rowing, 
he replied, ‘‘ Old Bianchi. You know him, boys, the 
archaeologist. Those poor women think he is drown- 
ing somewhere. It is only on their account that I 
care what becomes of him.” 

“Bianchi? Bianchi?” came the chorus of scorn 
from three cheerful youths with a wholesome contempt 
for age and learning. “ Ber Bacco ! ” “ It requires a 
face! To take us off real work to look for that old 
bat ! ” “ Know him, who doesn’t ? And who would 

so much as cross the street to help him? ” 

Rinaldo waited till he could make himself heard, 
then he said laughing at their protests, “ You need 
not even do that. He is down there in Palazzo 
Cestaldini, with the Cardinal. See, it is on this side 
and quite near.” 

“ Put about,” came Peppino’s sharp command, and 
Rinaldo was obliged to obey with the rest, who 
were executing the manoeuver with much alacrity. 
“ Now,” Peppino continued, when they were once 
more heading down stream, “ we will go where we 
278 


GIANNELLA 


279 


are wanted, to help the bakers save their bread and 
the butchers their meat. Are we to let the city starve 
to-morrow, because old ' Brontolone ’ is sitting in 
peace and comfort with the Cardinal in the piano 
nobile of Palazza Cestaldini? What do those fe- 
males take us for? Pull for Piazza Navora.” 

“ As you will, heartless one,” Rinaldo replied, 
‘‘ only we were so near that it would not have taken 
five minutes to assure ourselves that the old brigand 
was still there, and I could have called up to the 
women that he was safe.” 

Of course he is safe,” snorted Peppino. The 
women must learn sense and have patience. There 
is man’s work to do now. Look out.” 

They were turning a corner again and bumped into 
a big boat full of ‘‘ guardie,” the semi-military police 
who were responsible for the order of the city. The 
leader hailed them joyfully and at once attached 
them to his force for the rest of the day, a day of 
uncommonly hard work for the easy-going young 
men. 

A strange sight met their eyes when they reached 
Piazza Navona. In spite of yesterday’s warnings, 
flower sellers, fruit vendors, dealers in secondhand 
wares of every kind had installed themselves at break 
of day in their usual spots; and when, a few hours 
later, the sewers had suddenly gushed with impro- 
vised torrents, the unwary market people had lost their 
heads, and, unfortunately, a good deal of their 
property. The pyramid of huge water-melons piled 
round the base of the central obelisk now rose like 


28 o 


GIANNELLA 


a green island in a muddy sea. The two rococo foun- 
tains, fed from far away in the country through 
uncontaminated conduits, tossed their spray into the 
air and flung down sheets of pure crystal to meet the 
turbid, evil-smelling contributions which had sub- 
merged their basins; Bernini’s grotesque Tritons 
grinned fixedly on the ever increasing disaster below 
them; and the long florid porch of the church of Sant’ 
Agnese, raised on its marble steps above the danger 
level, was covered from end to end with salvage over 
which the owners were weeping and wringing their 
hands. One old crone stood leaning far out, fishing 
valiantly with her umbrella for a basket of lace which 
wobbled round just out of reach, its bundles of heavy, 
handmade edgings unrolling on the wavelets, while a 
bit of priceless old Venetian — such as collectors 
would love and the uninitiated regard as a rag — 
was twisting itself round the loosening laths of a 
towel-horse which had been its neighbor on the pav- 
ing stones. Old books and engravings, prints of 
saints in prayer and goddesses in flirtation, danced 
along shoulder to shoulder with plucked chickens 
and bobbing lemons; some urchins on the church 
steps were daring each other to wade after the spoils 
of the frying stall, which still wafted entrancing 
odors of hot oil to their discriminating little noses. 

After the first stress had been relieved Peppino and 
his comrades, known as they were for expert water- 
men, were told off to go through the lowlying streets 
nearest the river, where the inhabitants, driven, some 
hours earlier, from the ground floors to upper stories, 


GIANNELLA 


281 

might be in need of supplies. Well loaded with pro- 
visions they set out, stopping below the windows 
whence they were hailed, and sending up rations in 
the baskets which came swinging down on strings, 
the coppers for the food rattling inside them. Women 
called out, entreating the rescuers to go and look for. 
missing men of the family; but there was no delay- 
ing for these appeals, and each and all received the 
truly Roman answer, “ He is safe, we have just seen 
him.’’ That not one of the party knew the name or 
face of the absent one made no difference at all. No 
loss of life had been reported or was likely to be, so 
the statement as to safety would probably be justi- 
fied, while as to the other — well, distressed females 
must be pacified, and a good common-sense lie was 
the only practical means of doing that. 

There were other calls, however, which were in- 
stantly responded to. In one house there was sud- 
den sickness; a terrified woman screamed to the men, 
and Rinaldo caught the word “ Miserere,” the 
synonym for the fruit season scourge which slays 
in twelve hours. With all their might they pulled 
for the nearest apothecary, threatened him with in- 
stant death if he did not find his remedies in the 
twinkling of an eye, and then laid violent hands on 
him and bore him back to the stricken house, where 
they left him, disregarding his crazed entreaties that 
they would wait and take him home again. 

Then came a still more urgent call; a woman was 
dying and wanted the priest. Noting the street and 
number they promised the scared relatives to bring 


282 


GIANNELLA 


one. Pausing for a moment they consulted as to 
the position of the nearest. Peppino remembered 
his topography while the others were still looking 
round them, and issued his orders. Some ten 
minutes later the crew pulled up before the front 
steps of San Severino, and agile Peppino bounded 
up them, three at a time, to summon the sacristan. 
Rinaldo was tired of sitting on the narrow thwart, and 
he too sprang out and stood on the steps, holding 
the boat with the boathook. All was so changed by 
the strange aspect of the flood that he at first failed 
to recognize the spot. His acquaintance with his 
parish church had been chiefly carried on through 
the back entrance, but as he stood looking up at the 
sky, which was clearing now, with sulky shafts from 
the low sun tearing red rifts in the inky clouds, a 
sense of familiarity came over him. Baring his 
heated brow he looked up, down, arouncj. Why, of 
course, it was Giannella’s church, and Giannella her- 
self was only a few hundred yards away, waiting, 
with that adorable anxiety for him still in her eyes; 
weeping, perhaps, in her fear lest harm had come to 
him. He must get to her somehow, and tell her 
that he had not forgotten her for a moment (a brazen 
untruth, but how could any woman understand that 
even the most faithful masculine heart has no room 
for sentiment in the midst of action?), but that every 
oar and every pair of hands had been urgently needed 
throughout that long trying day. How glad she 
would be to see him. Though of course she would 
pretend to be still concerned about that animal. 


GIANNELLA 


283 


Bianchi, of whose society the Cardinal must be hor- 
ribly tired by this time if he had not managed to 
ship him home already. There had not been a 
moment in which to attend to him, but Rinaldo felt 
that he could not go back to Giannella without having 
called at Palazzo Cestaldini at least: well, the day 
was drawing in, the boys were all tired and hungry; 
they must quit work soon. After this expedition 
with the priest, he himself would be free to go and 
execute the belated commission. 

Ah, here he came, the good Father, reverently 
carrying the veiled chalice, accompanied by a fright- 
ened acolyte with a lighted taper, and Fra Tommaso, 
looking very serious and having much ado to hold up 
the umbrella canopy and not slip on the wet steps. 
As they approached, Rinaldo knelt with bared head; 
then he was on his feet, helping the priest to bestow 
himself and his precious burden safely. The sacris- 
tan knelt in the boat behind him, still sheltering him 
with the canopy, and the boy climbed in, grinning and 
delighted now with the novelty of the situation. 

It made an impressive picture as the young men, 
bare-headed and silent, rowed fast down the yellow 
waterway, where the wavelets were crested with 
bronze gold in the low rays of the sunset. The 
priest, looking neither to right nor left, was praying 
in whispers. Fra Tommaso’s deep tones striking in 
with Amens and responses ; the lurid sunbeams 
glowed on his tonsured head, on the gold fringes of 
the canopy, on the young men’s faces stilled to wor- 
ship by the careful honor of their mission. It was 


284 


GIANNELLA 


not far to the house of death, a mean, discolored 
building in a narrow alley, where pale watchers look- 
ing out from the doorway told them they were still 
wanted, still in time. 

The neighbors gathered at their windows, sympa- 
thetic and curious. Two or three women lighted 
candles and held them out in honor of the Santis- 
simo. Then the rowers waited in silence for some 
twenty minutes, after which the padre reappeared, 
wrapped and prayerful as before, and he and his 
attendants were conveyed home. 

Now for supper,” exclaimed Peppino. ‘‘ I die 
of hunger.” 

‘‘ One moment,” said Rinaldo. We are close to 
Palazzo Cestaldini, I would just like to make an in- 
quiry there.” 

There was another outcry from his companions, and 
at that moment they were all hailed by a passing boat, 
full of their friends of the River Society. Come 
on, boys,” they called, we are all dismissed for 
the night. We are going to supper in Piazza Colonna 
— you follow us.” 

In a moment,” Rinaldo answered, ‘‘ we have one 
little thing to do first.” 

'^Nonsense!” protested the others. But Rinaldo 
was firm this time and the malcontents, calling the 
other boat alongside, clambered into it and shoved 
away. Peppino had remained with his friend. 

“ You could not get this clumsy thing along by 
yourself, you pig-headed brigand,” he growled. ‘‘ My 
poor outraged inside is crying for food, but I will 


GIANNELLA 


285 


come with you. Pull now — mind that pillar. Here 
we are, but the portone is closed, and God knows 
how we are going to get in. Good heavens, what 
is that?'’ The current, carrying them swiftly along, 
had flung the boat-side against the protruding grat- 
ing of a window just above its tide, and at the same 
instant a dripping object, apparently a corpse in 
spectacles, rose behind the bars, a clawlike hand caught 
at the gunwale, and a yell of entreaty assailed the 
rowers’ ears. 

For the love of God, take me out ! Take me 
out ! I perish, I die ! Madonna mia Santissima ! 
Take me out ! ” 

“ Stop dragging at the boat,” cried Peppino when 
he had recovered his breath. “ Who are you? How 
did you get shut up here ? ” 

“ Go to the devil,” retorted the shuddering appari- 
tion. ** Is this a moment for questions ? I have 
been in this sepulcher since the morning. Get me 
out, I say.” 

“ Santo Dio,” gasped Rinaldo, turning nearly as 
pale as the distracted suppliant, you — you are 
Professor Bianchi. Oh, assassin that I am! Yes, I 
will get you out, instantly. Let go, let go, I can’t 
pull you through the grating.” 

They had to tear his fingers off the gunwale, for 
the man was half delirious in his terror of being 
abandoned. Then with two or three strokes they 
reached the closed front door and pounded on it, 
shouting for the porter. Their cries attracted heads 

to the first-floor windows; Domenico, with the chap- 
19 


286 


GIANNELLA 


lain looking over his shoulder, leaned far out and 
asked what this scandalous uproar meant. Did they 
know where they were, these audacious ones? This 
was the Palazza Cestaldini, and the Eminenza was 
within. If they did not depart at once, the police 
should be summoned. 

Rinaldo shouted down Domenico’s reproofs, ex- 
plaining with extraordinary fluency of invective that 
some dog, fathered by brigands and mothered by 
wolves, and doomed with twenty generations of 
picked ancestors, to eternal fires had kept Professor 
Bianchi imprisoned, in peril of death, in a flooded 
crypt, since the morning. Let some Christian, if 
there was one in that many times cursed household, 
open the portone and let him come to their victim’s 
rescue. 

Then indeed the faces above turned pale with con- 
sternation. Domenico vanished, and the chaplain, 
nearly falling out in his earnestness, clasped his hands 
and implored the gentleman to be quiet, to moderate 
the transports of his just indignation. The Emi- 
nenza was ill to learn of this accident suddenly 
might be fatal to him. But at this point Rinaldo, 
still calling down the wrath of Heaven on all impli- 
cated in the tragedy, heard the heavy bolts with- 
drawn, and, through the slowly opening portal, saw 
men standing up to their knees in water and the steep 
ascent to the courtyard crowded with terrified 
servants. 

Leaving Peppino to take care of the boat, he sprang 
out and landed among them like a firebrand. In 


GIANNELLA 


287 


five minutes he had picked out some likely assistants 
and had them under orders, carrying ladders, ropes 
and lanterns down the dark stairway which led from 
a corner of the courtyard to the subterranean 
regions. 

When they had followed him down to the last step, 
above water in the crypt Rinaldo raised his lantern 
high above his head and peered across an inky sea 
to locate the Professor, but all he could make out 
was a crumpled heap sunk together on the stone 
platform beneath a window; and no glad cries came 
from it to answer his encouraging shouts. He tried 
the depth of the water at his feet and found some 
seven or eight feet of it; so there was only one thing 
to do: he coiled a rope round his body, placed one 
end in the hand of a trembling domestic, with 
frightful threats of what would overtake him should 
he let go, and then swam across to the outer wall. 
There he ran lightly up the steps and lifted the 
Professor, who had fallen on his face in collapse and 
unconsciousness at last. The reaction of relief when 
he had caught at the boat, the agony of disappoint- 
ment on seeing himself, as his dazed senses told him, 
again forsaken, had been too much after the horrible 
experience of the day, and he lay in Rinaldo’s arms 
an inert and heavy mass which it would be by no 
means easy to carry back. It would be better to have 
help, so Rinaldo shouted to the men on the steps to 
go and fetch his friend — and to see that the boat 
was made fast. A few minutes later Peppino’s 
cheery call sounded up in the echoing darkness of the 


288 


GIANNELLA 


vaults, and the splash of his stroke as he shot through 
the water struck pleasantly on Rinaldo’s ear. 

Peppino tured white and shrank back when he 
touched Bianchi’s clay-cold hand, but Rinaldo assured 
him that the man had only fainted — his heart was 
still beating. Between them they roped him to them- 
selves, slipped smoothly into the water, and swam 
in perfect unison to the foot of the stairs. There 
Domenico and the chaplain fell on their necks almost 
weeping in their thankfulness and their admiration 
of what they called the young gentlemen's amazing 
courage. The boys shook them off, laughing, for 
the little feat was ease and simplicity itself; and then 
Rinaldo, picking up the still unconscious Professor, 
imperiously demanded a warm bed for his patient. 
In an incredible short time the poor chilled victim 
was rolled up in heated blankets, surrounded by 
scalding bricks, and Rinaldo made him swallow a 
draught, the hottest and fieriest that had ever passed 
his abstemious lips. 

He was quite alive now, but a little light-headed. 
He shed copious tears of relief and weakness while 
he clung to and kissed Rinaldo's hand, called him 
Hermes, and vowed that if only he would grow a 
beard nobody would ever notice the place where his 
head was joined to his body. 

Before all this was accomplished, the Cardinal’s 
bell had been ringing repeatedly, and at last the 
chaplain and Domenico, the latter quaking with ap- 
prehension, presented themselves before him. 

“ What is this commotion that I have been hear- 


GIANNELLA 


289 


ing? ” the prelate asked quite sternly. ‘‘Twice and 
three times have I rung the bell and no one has come. 
I had never imagined that such remissness was pos- 
sible. Explain.” 

“ Eminenza,” Domenico wailed, “ there has been 
trouble, just a little trouble. Nothing serious. Let 
the Eminenza not be alarmed.” This last in com- 
pliance to the young priest’s grip of his arm and a 
frowning reminder that the Cardinal must not be 
agitated. 

But Paolo Cestaldini was more than agitated, he 
was terribly incensed, when the whole miserable story, 
wrapped in palliations and excuses, was laid before 
him. 

“ What ? ” he cried, his usually gentle face lighted 
up with a flame of anger, “ you actually left that good 
and illustrious man to suffer, to drown, to accuse 
you of his death before his Maker? You, Domenico, 
you never took the trouble to assure yourself that he 
had left the vault. It is only by Heaven’s mercy and 
that brave young stranger’s charity that you are not 
a murderer to-day. Coward, pagan, without heart, 
without conscience — how can I ever endure to have 
you near me again ? ” 

“ Eminenza, forgive him,” the chaplain besought, 
“ he could not know, he did not reflect. He has 
served you faithfully for so many years.” 

“ Let the Eminenza have pity upon me ! ” Domen- 
ico implored, falling on his knees with uplifted hands. 
“ I have sinned, yes — but indeed no reasoning per- 
son could have figured to himself that the Signor 


290 


GIANNELLA 


Professore was still there. The Signor De Sanctis, 
the two workmen, they went away in the first moment 
of danger. Was he an infant that he could not fol- 
low them? And why did they leave him? Could 
they not have dragged him with them? Is he not 
old and thin ? Eminenza mia buona, the fault is with 
them, not with me.” 

The Cardinal still frowned on his contrite retainer, 
but he was too just not to see that there was 
sense in his expostulations. He turned to the chap- 
lain who was standing silently by. Caro mio,” he 
said, do me the favor to return to our poor friend’s 
bedside — he may require something. I must say 
a word to Domenico here.” When they were left 
alone he addressed the major-domo : “You have been 
guilty of the gravest neglect and disobedience, my 
poor Domenico, for I sent you downstairs with ex- 
press orders to ascertain whether the Professor was 
still below. You gave one look from the upper step, 
you saw water, you returned, very frightened, with- 
out having even asked the porter whether he had seen 
him go out. I shall forgive you this time, and I must 
in justice admit that you were not the only culprit. 
Certainly Signor De Sanctis should have let someone 
know that the other gentleman had remained behind. 
But I suppose that he was too alarmed and thought 
only of himself. See, my son, what comes of selfish- 
ness! It is the ugliest of all the sins, the one which 
Satan finds ready to his hand in every human heart. 
It makes a man of education as stupid and cruel as the 


GIANNELLA 


291 

beasts. Hell would be to let in a day but for 
selfishness.’^ 

“ Yes, indeed, Eminenza,” said Domenico quickly. 
He always knew that he was forgiven when his 
master embarked on a sermon and that light of charity 
and sorrow began to shine in his eyes. But the ser- 
mons were apt to be long, and just now the old man 
knew that he might be wanted elsewhere. The 
Cardinal’s physician had been summoned to attend 
the Professor, remedies would be ordered, a servant 
would have to be dispatched somehow to the apothe- 
cary — and what with the flood and the accident, the 
servants were like a pack of frightened children this 
evening! Oh, a dozen matters were certainly requir- 
ing his attention at the other end of the house; he 
was the central wheel of the big solemn establishment, 
the channel for every order, the paymaster for every 
bill — and so jealous of his proud cares that no other 
member of the household was ever allowed to act 
on his own initiative for a moment. Everything began 
and ended with Sor Domenico — so the beloved 
Eminenza must be induced to dismiss him promptly, 
or a lot of stupid mistakes would be made. With the 
deftness of long habits he seized the first opportunity 
of taking up the parable against himself. 

‘‘ Oh yes, Eminenza,” he said very earnestly, “ we 
are all — except your illustrious self, of course — 
dreadful sinners in that way — egoists of the most 
evil kind. The Eminenza will pray for me, and I will 
humbly try to correct the fault in future. Mean- 


292 


GIANNELLA 


while my heart is anxious about the Signor Pro- 
fessore. The young gentleman who so nobly rescued 
him may require my presence — ” 

'' Go, go, my son,” exclaimed the Cardinal, “ let 
Signor Bianchi want for nothing. It will be an 
eternal remorse to me that this terrible accident 
should have happened in my house, and we cannot 
do enough to repair our fault. Meanwhile please 
ask that young man to come to me here that I may 
thank him for his most valuable help. God was truly 
merciful to send him to us. I shall not know how to 
express my gratitude.” 

Domenico departed, and in a few minutes the chap- 
lain came to say that Signor Goffi (he had ascertained 
his name) had asked permission to withdraw at once, 
being very wet and not in a proper condition to pre- 
sent himself before the Eminenza. If he might be 
allowed, he would come and pay his respects to-mor- 
row. And the doctor, who had now. arrived, en- 
treated the Cardinal not to visit the Signor Professore 
this evening. He must be kept very quiet, a sleeping 
draught, which should have a most beneficent effect, 
had been administered, and the doctor would remain 
through the night if necessary. He was confident 
that the patient would be much better in the morning. 
Let the Eminenza lay all anxiety aside and remember 
to take another dose of quinine himself at nine 
o’clock, also the orange-flower water in order to sleep 
peacefully after this deplorable shock to his nerves. 


CHAPTER XXII 


W HEN night fell over the half -dr owned city it 
seemed to Giannella that ten years of sus- 
pense and misery had been compressed into a single 
day. The few moments of wild happiness which had 
illuminated her sky during Rinaldo’s visit had only 
made the creeping hours afterwards the more unbear- 
able. As the weight of anxiety increased and no news 
came of either Rinaldo or Bianchi, Mariuccia’s temper 
became almost savage; and Giannella, her hot Scan- 
dinavian blood roused at last, suddenly turned on her 
and told her that instead of cursing the flood, the 
city, and all connected with it she ought to be down 
on her knees praying for those who were in danger 
and asking pardon for her hard-heartedness in send- 
ing the bravest and kindest of men to look for a 
selfish old fellow who could be trusted to take the 
very best care of himself. 

Mariuccia stopped short in her stride from window 
to window and stared at the girl in amazement. Gian- 
nella’s eyes were blazing, her cheeks scarlet, her very 
hair, usually so goldenly smooth, was flying round her 
forehead in wild disorder. Her hands were clenched, 
and she brought her heel down on the bricks with a 
stamp which shook the rickety old floor. 

You have killed him, I know you have,” she cried, 
all the torrent of her pent-up wretchedness finding 

293 


294 


GIANNELLA 


voice in the cry. ‘‘ You old people are all alike, only 
caring for dried-up old creatures like yourselves. We 
— we, the young ones, who can think of something 
besides musty books and dirty old statues and scraped 
pennies — we who can love, and suffer for others, we 
are nothing. We may break our hearts and cry our 
eyes out, and consume with anguish, and nobody cares. 
‘ Gioventu ’ — youth — you say, and shrug your shoul- 
ders, and forget all about it. Where is Rinaldo, my 
fidanzato, I should like to know? Oh, you need not 
look so shocked — he is my betrothed, and we will be 
married whether you or the padrone or fifty thousand 
other cruel old people want us to or not. Madonna 
mia, who is that ? ’’ 

Across the torrent of her anger a long knocking 
had broken, and the cracked bell in the passage was 
jangling on its wires. Both the women changed color. 
It was the first sound that had come to them from the 
outer world since the morning, and it meant tidings. 
Good? Bad? Their hearts stood still. Mariuccia, 
the hardy old peasant, gave out the most completely, 
sinking down on a chair with both hands on her knees 
and the sweat breaking out on her brow. Giannella 
stood rigid by the table, staring towards the door. 
Then came a second knock, loud and sharp. She 
sprang to life and flew to answer it. As she tore at 
the chain and bolts, a word came through, the sweet- 
est she had ever heard : ‘‘ Giannella, is it you ? ” 

Then the door was open, there was a stifled cry, 
and Giannella’s head was buried on her lover’s shoul- 


GIANNELLA 


295 

der, his arms held her to his heart, his kisses were 
on her hair — Rinaldo had come back. 

How they rejoiced over him! Mariuccia laid vio- 
lent hands on the padrone’s stores and cooked him a 
supper which he never forgot. He told them, in care- 
fully mitigated form, of the poor Professor’s adven- 
ture, dwelling much on the honor and comfort he 
was now enjoying and as little as possible on the pain- 
ful incarceration which had preceded it. Mariuccia 
flushed with pride and delight when she learned that 
her master was the guest of the revered Cardinal 
Cestaldini, and Giannella listened with glowing eyes 
to the account of the rescue, telling herself over and 
over again that her Rinaldo was the most valiant of 
heroes for so cleverly and bravely going to the pa- 
drone’s assistance. If Rinaldo’s part in the exploit 
lost nothing in the telling it was only because the 
young man was too triumphantly happy to deprecate 
the applause which Giannella lavished upon him. 
When at last Mariuccia ordered him to bed in Bian- 
chi’s room — for she would not hear of his attempt- 
ing to return to his own lodging that night — he fell 
asleep in a whirl of excitement, warmed, comforted, 
assured of the future, and indescribably happy to feel 
that his beautiful, loving Giannella was under the same 
roof with him, dreaming of him, somewhere on the 
other side of the dingy whitewashed wall. 

He awoke the next morning dazed and puzzled at 
his surroundings and rather stiff and sore from the 
exposure and fatigues of the day before; but he had 


296 


GIANNELLA 


scarcely opened his eyes when Mariuccia entered with 
a cup of steaming coffee, and his clothes, already care- 
fully dried and pressed, folded over her arm. It was 
so long since he had had a woman to take care of him 
that his heart went out to her, and hers was always 
ready to mother another child. So he told her that 
she was an angel, and she said he was a good boy — 
and their compact for life was sealed. 

When he came out into the kitchen a little later 
Giannella was giving the last touches to a truly Ro- 
man summer breakfast, delicate wafers of smoked 
ham on one plate, a pile of fresh figs, pale emerald 
globes, each carrying its dewdrop of honey at the tip, 
on another. An enterprising “ fruttarolo ’’ had 
wheeled his handcart up the Via Santafede at sun- 
rise and the string and basket had done the rest. A 
few fresh carnations, pulled from the cherished win- 
dow plants, stood in a glass with sprigs of lavender, 
and the repentant sunbeams played on a straw-bound 
flask of red wine and a carafe of sparkling Trevi 
water. The windows were open, the sky was blue; 
across the way Fra Tommaso’s flowers were lifting 
their heads again in a fringe of white and red, and 
the pigeons were circling and calling to each other. 
The setting of the picture was all that was gay and 
sweet, but the picture itself was so enchanting that 
Rinaldo saw little else just then. Some rarer gold 
seemed to have been shed on Giannella’s hair this 
morning, there was a new tenderness in her gray eyes, 
and her heart was so full of happiness that she 
smiled unconsciously, and at any chance word elusive 


GIANNELLA 


297 


dimples of laughter showed themselves at the corners 
of her pretty mouth. The brightness of the day and 
the ease at her heart had niade her unwilling to put 
on her old dark dress. She had found, among a few 
things of her mother’s which Mariuccia had kept for 
her, a faded muslin, white sprigged with pink, and this 
she had shaken out and put on, pinning a flower 
where the open neck sank away from her fair throat, 
and a ribbon round the long old-fashioned waist. 
Mariuccia understood, and nodded approvingly when 
Giannella came out of her little room looking like a 
rose in bloom; and Rinaldo, when he joined them, 
understood too, and took her hands in his and whis- 
pered, ‘‘ Good-morning, sposina mia.” 

The storm was over and the sun had begun to shine 
on Rome again, and on Giannella’s life at last; and 
though happiness was such a new thing to her, she 
knew it for what it was and took it to her heart in 
all simplicity, in perfect trust that it would never 
fail her again. 

When Rinaldo was lighting his first cigarette Mari- 
uccia announced that, come what might, she was going 
to see for herself how the padrone was getting on. 
She was sure he must need her after all he had gone 
through — and he only just getting over that dread- 
ful cold, poverino — and of course there was nobody 
in the Cardinal’s household who could replace her at 
his bedside. What good were a lot of men to a sick 
person, she would like to know? 

Rinaldo did not say that he was doubtful of her 
reception in the strictly celibate domicile, but he pro- 


298 


GIANNELLA 


tested that no woman could get through the streets. 
The water had already subsided considerably, but it 
still lay deep in some places while others were an ex- 
panse of mud and slush not to be braved by petticoats. 
All this moved Mariuccia not at all; she had made up 
her obstinate old mind, and all Rinaldo obtained was 
that she would wait another hour or two. Then he 
would try to pilot her to the Via Tresette, from which 
one could gain the narrow alley leading to the back 
entrance of Palazzo Cestaldini, a facility which had 
only been revealed to himself the night before. In 
spite of his assurances that the doctor would certainly 
not allow the Professor to be moved for two or three 
days, Mariuccia insisted on preparing her master’s 
bedroom for his reception. A huge warming-pan was 
placed in his bed, the window was tightly closed, and 
sundry acrid-smelling herbs were set on the fire for 
a ‘‘ decotto ” according to an ancient country prescrip- 
tion quite infallible against the results of a chill. 

While she came and went, Rinaldo and Giannella 
sat and talked in low tones. All their future lay be- 
fore them to play with and every detail of it was an 
enchanting subject to plan and think for. Now that 
he was so near her Rinaldo felt that it would be ab- 
surd to wait till October to be married, five whole 
weeks. No, that joyful ev t should take place as 
soon as the appartamentino could be furnished, and 
Giannella must come with him and choose every single 
thing. What sort of paper would she like in the 
salotto — amber color, or mazarin blue with gold 
flowers? (Both were much admired, he heard.) As 


GIANNELLA 


299 


for the bedroom, Rinaldo had seen that of a newly- 
married friend, and the walls were covered with pink 
roses as big as cabbages tied with blue ribbon. Oh, 
it was most beautiful, and so gay. Giannella would 
be sure to like it, and the roses would make it seem 
like summer all the year round. 

The roses flushed up in Giannella’s cheeks just then; 
she became silent, and finally dropped her eyes before 
Rinaldo’s steady ardent gaze. What is it, my an- 
gel?” he asked, leaning forward anxiously. “Does 
it not make you happy to know that you will so soon, 
in a few days, core of my heart — be my own little 
wife? ” 

“ Too happy — I am too happy,” she replied. “ It 
almost hurts. Give me time, amore mio — a girl 
must take breath.” 

“ Plenty of time to do that between now and next 
Sunday!” he declared. “Five whole days. Is that 
not enough? I wish it could be to-morrow, to-day.” 

“Five days,” cried Giannella. “But, Rinaldo, we 
could not be ready for weeks. Think of all there is 
to do. Papering, furnishing, the linen to get and sew 
— oh, it is dreadful that you should have all this 
great expense, that I cannot do even a little to help in 
it. If they had only let me earn money during these 
years. It is terrible to feel that I have been so use- 
less.” 

“ Giannella mia,” said Rinaldo, looking very wise, 
“I will tell you a secret. I do not believe I should 
ever have fallen in love with a woman who was earn- 
ing her living. It takes something away — something 


300 


GIANNELLA 


very light, very delicate — I am too stupid to explain 
it properly — but just what makes a woman adorable. 
It would break my heart if one of my sisters should 
think of doing such a thing. What are the men there 
for? We are very simple people, I and my family, 
but we are too proud for that. If we cannot keep our 
women in decency and comfort, we might as well 
throw ourselves into the river at once.’’ 

‘‘ But I had no family,” said Giannella ; ‘‘ but for 
Mariuccia, and the padrone who let me stay here with 
her, I should have been brought up to a trade, like 
other poor girls.” 

Rinaldo interrupted her with something like stern- 
ness. Giannella, once for all, please forget all that. 
Thank Heaven Mariuccia understood her responsibil- 
ities and carried them out nobly. We will make it all 
up to her. And Signor Bianchi is not and has never 
been your ‘ padrone.’ Please stop speaking of him 
in that manner. Your father ^^as a gentleman and 
you belong to his class. The word ‘ padrone ’ offends 
me. 

I would never do that,” she cried, “ forgive me, 
my heart. It is just a habit that I have grown up 
with, because Mariuccia always speaks of the Profes- 
sor like that. But I too must tell you something. 
We cannot — be married — quite so soon as you 
wish, because I am still determined that those two. 
Signor Bianchi and the Princess, must be quite recon- 
ciled and willing. Oh, you do not know how much I 
love you — it would kill me to be parted from you. 
But when I come to our dear, pretty appartamentino 


GIANNELLA 


301 


I must leave peace behind me. Then I can bring 
peace with me. Disturbances, contradictions, there 
must be none of these to remember on that day. Sig- 
nor Bianchi must be our good friend always. He 
will be much happier like that, and will soon forget 
that he ever had this silly caprice about wanting to 
marry me. And the Principessa has been good to me. 
But for her, amore mio, I should be an ignorant, un- 
taught creature, quite unfit to be your wife. So you 
owe her some gratitude, and I a great deal. When 
you see her and explain everything she will be sure 
to agree with you — who could help it? And it is 
not long to wait. She will return in the beginning of 
October.'^ 

“ And take another six weeks to find time to see 
me — and six more to make up her mind,’’ was Ri- 
naldo’s scornful reply. You are quite right, Gian- 
nella, we certainly ought to have her most excellent 
blessing, but I shall go-to Santafede to get it. I do 
not mind that, my dear. I would travel round the 
world to please you. As for Bianchi — I am going to 
ask the Cardinal to bring him to reason as soon as 
the old fellow is able to listen to it. Your gentle 
heart shall be satisfied, and then — ” 

Then,” said Giannella, suddenly bending over and 
laying her fresh lips on his hand, then there will not 
be one little cloud in my whole world. You will have 
to pretend to be cross with me sometimes, to keep me 
from dying of happiness.” 

Mariuccia came and stood beside them, her hands 

on her hips and a funny grimace in her old face. 
20 


302 


GIANNELLA 


“ When you have done chattering, you two,” she said, 
“ perhaps you will condescend to remember that we 
must go out. I am not in love — and I want to get 
my padrone into his own bed. It is nearly twelve 
o’clock.” And she smiled down on them benevo- 
lently. 

Giannella ran off to change her dress, and soon re- 
turned, a bit of lovely primness in her black frock, 
with the lace coif over her smooth hair. The house 
was locked up and they all went down together. By 
picking their steps carefully they reached their des- 
tination without patent disaster, and were received 
by Domenico — Rinaldo warmly, but the women with 
the reserve proper to an ecclesiastical household, 
where such visitors came but rarely and were not en- 
couraged. Leaving them all in the second anteroom 
the major-domo went to inform his master of their 
arrival. 

“ Eminenza, I grieve to disturb you ” — this was 
the invariable opening of Domenico’s communications 
— “ but that young gentleman. Signor Goffi, is in the 
sala, with two females who wish to see Signor Bianchi. 
And Signor Goffi — he seems most respectable and 
polite — begs the great favor of a few minutes’ audi- 
ence. I told him that I would ask, but that of course 
— at this hour — ” 

But yes, of course I will see hm,” the Cardinal 
exclaimed. Have I not to thank him for averting 
the most terrible of disasters? Who are the 
women?” he inquired, with instinctive suspicion of 
anything in petticoats. 


GIANNELLA 


303 


“ An old servant and a young lady — rather pret- 
ty,” Domenico responded. ‘‘ They say they live with 
the Signor Professore, and are anxious about his 
health.” 

‘‘ Tell them to wait a minute,” said his master. 
“ Bring Signor Goffi to me, and then go and see if the 
Professor is well enough to be troubled with these 
persons. And one thing more, Domenico. You say 
that the water has subsided in the streets — send a 
man at once to Signor De Sanctis, and ask him to fa- 
vor me with a visit as soon as he conveniently can. I 
am anxious to hear his explanation of his unusual con- 
duct yesterday.” 

Out in the sala the two women were conversing in 
whispers, a little overawed by the stillness and the 
majesty of their surroundings, though Mariuccia took 
on a certain air of proprietorship and looked quite 
scornfully at the lacqueys in the outer room, mere 
hired servants who could boast no connection with the 
finest family on earth. She, Mariuccia Botti, be- 
longed to the Cestaldini, and had a right to feel at 
home in the palace which, she informed Giannella, 
was not nearly so grand as the one at Castel Gan- 
dolfo. 

Rinaldo meanwhile was elaborating the idea with 
which Giannella’s remonstrances had inspired him. 
Personally he did not care a fig what Bianchi might 
think or feel about their marriage, but since she 
wished him to smile on it, smile he must, and for- 
tune was putting into Rinaldo’s hands the very best 
means of accomplishing that miracle. The Professor, 


304 


GIANNELLA 


still shuddering under the impression of yesterday’s 
horrible fright, should be brought to open his heart 
to his gallant rescuer (why throw away the benefit of 
a good action?) and the Cardinal, the great holy 
Cardinal, who could preach so eloquently that he 
could cause the most hardened sinners to be dissolved 
with contrition, he should use his authority and per- 
suasion to effect this happy result. Now he must 
think of how best to lay his case before the prelate, 
and. as he sat in the sala, staring at the high armoried 
canopy which indicated that this was a princely house, 
he pondered whether to begin his appeal in a strain 
of noble, reckless passion such, as would touch an or- 
dinary man of the world, or, more appropriately, in 
one of gentle humility. The latter seemed more ad- 
visable on the whole, and he began to rehearse an 
opening declaration of modesty and single-hearted- 
ness — in all of which, despite his sense of dramatic 
fitness, the good fellow would have claimed no more 
than his due, when Giannella turned to him with a lit- 
tle remark. He looked into her sweet, intelligent 
face and all apprehension left him. He felt that he 
had but to remember it and the right words would be 
given to him. Oh, that he could show her to the 
great man whose interest he wished to arouse. There 
would be small need for his own pleading after that. 
Who would not be glad to serve her? 

Then Domenico appeared, to conduct Rinaldo to 
the Cardinal. He told the women that the doctor 
was with the Signor Professore; would they wait a 
little and he would find out whether they could see him 
afterwards? 


CHAPTER XXIII 


W HEN Domenico inquired whether the Profes- 
sor’s servant might come in to see her master, 
the physician shook his head. '' Better not,” he said, 
“ the patient is very weak and nervous still, and has 
fever. I cannot say whether it will abate at once. 
It is possible he may need great care for several days. 
And you know what these good females are, Sor 
Domenico. They weep, they wring their hands, they 
suggest sending for the priest, and frighten the poor 
creature into believing he is about to expire. Also 
they have ancient and noxious remedies used by their 
great-grandmothers for sore fingers, which they will 
administer to typhoid cases on the sly — and throw the 
doctor’s medicines out of the window. I have known 
them give a fever patient a plate of beans because 
he happened to fancy it! No, the Signor Professore 
is better without any visitors at present. Tell these 
women that he is improving rapidly, that he is asleep 
— say that I have ordered him to have two pounds 
of beefsteak for his dinner. They will believe any- 
thing and that will reassure them. But mind you 
give him nothing but the soup, and the orzata if he is 
thirsty. I will return this evening.” 

Domenico nodded comprehendingly, showed the 
doctor out and, when the door had closed on him, gave 
Mariuccia his report with a little added color and em- 

305 


3o6 


GIANNELLA 


broidery to make it more convincing. The old woman 
listened eagerly, and, on receiving a rather rash prom- 
ise that she should see her master the next day, de- 
clared herself satisfied, but asked leave to wait until 
the Signorino Goffi should be dismissed by his Em- 
inence. She had the signorina with her — Domenico 
bowed perplexedly to Giannella, whose status was by 
no means clear to him — and the streets were in a 
dreadful condition still, Mariuccia explained, not fit 
for two women alone to traverse. Domenico, all po- 
liteness, begged them to be seated, and assured them 
that the Signorino Goffi would rejoin them shortly; 
he was about to retire when another visitor entered, 
the lawyer De Sanctis, looking troubled and out of 
breath. The messenger had told him the story of the 
Professor’s adventure and had (after the manner of 
Italian servants, who consider themselves and are con- 
sidered a part of the family) given him a friendly 
warning that the Eminenza was “ proprio inchieto,” 
very much annoyed by what had happened, and would 
in all likelihood administer some severe reproof to the 
Signor Avvocato. Sor Domenico had received a ter- 
rific scolding, and it was understood in the house that 
but for the intercession of Don Ignazio, the Eminen- 
za’s chaplain, he and the porter and one or two others 
would have been dismissed on the spot. The kind- 
hearted fellow suggested two or three good lies as pos- 
sible excuses, but De Sanctis knew that these would 
not pass with his clear-sighted patron. He must take 
his scolding as best he might — and revenge himself 


GIANNELLA 


307 


for it some day by discrediting Bianchi with the Car- 
dinal. That would be easy enough, as things stood. 

He was being conducted through the sala to await 
his turn elsewhere, when he caught sight of Giannella. 
He halted, looked again at her and her companion, 
and whispered to Domenico that he had a word to say 
to the young lady ; there was no need to wait for him ; 
he would be in the room beyond when the Eminenza 
should condescend to send for him. And Domenico, 
glad to be dismissed, hurried off to attend to his 
many duties. 

Then De Sanctis came towards Giannella with a 
pleasant smile of recognition. “ Signorina Brock- 
mann,” he said, ‘‘ I fear you do not remember me,” 
for Giannella was meeting his glance with some sur- 
prise, “ yet it was I who had the pleasure of bringing 
you the news of your accession to fortune some little 
time ago. How easily we become accustomed to 
agreeable things! You have perhaps forgotten that 
you were not always rich.” 

Giannella had risen from her seat when he began 
to speak, but her face was grave and cold. There 
was a touch of familiarity in his tone which offended 
her. As he continued, however, her expression 
changed to one of blank incomprehension. It was 
patent to De Sanctis that Bianchi had never told her 
about her inheritance. The shabby dress, the running 
out on mean errands, the discrepancies which had puz- 
zled him, were explained now. He had not had long 
to wait for his pretty little revenge. Here was a 


GIANNELLA 


308 

weapon with which to turn the Cardinal’s just wrath 
in quite a new direction. He smiled on the girl grate- 
fully for providing him with it. 

“ I remember you perfectly, sir,'’ Giannella said at 
last, ^‘but I do not understand to what you allude. 
There is a mistake. You must be thinking of some 
other person." 

Neither of them had noticed Mariuccia, who, 
through the colloquy, had been staring at the lawyer 
with an ominous frown. She remembered him, she 
recognized him, the visitor to whom she had wished 
twenty thousand apoplexies in the last three months. 

Pushing Giannella aside she came before him, her 
eyes like fiery gimlets boring for the truth — a rough- 
tongued, hard-handed Nemesis prepared to chastise 
the disturber of household peace. “ Ah, it is you ! ” 
she began in a scornful growl, ‘‘ Now perhaps you will 
tell me what wickedness it was that you put into my 
poor padrone's head when you came to see him? Till 
that day he was an angel, good, pacific, regulated, 
thinking only of his studies, his blessed archaeology 
and his bits of stones, asking only that his house 
should be quiet and his meals punctual and cheap. 
Never did he require more of us two poor creatures 
than that — and as for matrimony — he would have 
run away if anybody had had the temerity to speak to 
him of such folly. What should he want with a wife 
at fifty-five, when he never wanted one at the proper 
time ? You come. Master Lawyer, and a thousand ca- 
prices come with you and make an earthquake in his 
poor head! This child and I have had no rest! He 


GIANNELLA 


309 


wants to marry the poor little thing, marry her, with 
the clothes she stands up in, a girl without a penny, 
who already works for him without wages, as if she 
were my daughter and not a lady born. Did you tell 
him, O assassin, that she is big enough and strong 
enough to do the work of two? Does he want to 
send me away after twenty years’ service, to save my 
miserable wages — all that she and I have in the 
world — and make her his wife so that she will have 
to work for him, gratis, forever? Ah, that was it, 
was it? You said to him, ‘ Sor Professore mio, why 
feed two females and pay one when you need only 
feed one and pay her nothing? That old strega, 
Mariuccia, will soon be aged and of little use. Gian- 
nella knows how to do everything now. Marry her, 
so that she can live alone with you, and get rid of the 
other at once.’ Yes, that is what you advised, in- 
fidel, imprudent,” thundered the enraged seeress, 
and you have committed a damnable sin, for which 
the devil who taught it to you shall kick your soul 
and the souls of all your ugly little dead about in hell 
for a thousand years ! Madonna mia, how could such 
wickedness enter a man’s heart ? ” 

During this long impassioned address De Sanctis 
had stood quite still, never taking his eyes from his 
adversary’s face till she stopped, gasping for breath, 
with clenched hands that seemed twitching to get at 
his throat. Giannella was clinging to her arm and 
had been keeping up a stream of remonstrances and 
entreaties that she would cease to insult the gentleman, 
would refrain from making such a scandalous uproar 


310 


GIANNELLA 


in the Cardinal’s house. But all to no purpose. Mari- 
uccia shook her off as a wolfhound would shake off a 
spaniel, and only paused, as it seemed, to find breath 
and inspiration for another tirade. 

De Sanctis had allowed her to say her say, for 
every word she uttered only made the Professor’s 
perfidy more plain; now his legal integrity was sit- 
ting in judgment on the offender, while his personal 
grudge against the man fed joyfully on the proofs of 
his double dealing. Having learned all that he wished 
to know, he spoke to Mariuccia, angrily enough. 
“ You are a silly, ignorant woman, and you have been 
saying things for which you will beg my pardon on 
your knees ! You think you know what I came to say 
to your master, do you? Well, listen, and never again, 
so long as/ you live, dare to insult an honorable and 
innocent person with vile suspicions. Yes, I thought 
the Professor was like myself, an upright man, a man 
to be trusted. I thought he had been the lifelong 
friend and helper of this young lady. And, as she 
was still under age, I placed in his hands the wonderful 
fortune which, largely through my disinterested ef- 
forts in discovering her, had come to her from her 
father’s brother in Denmark. Ah, you tremble, you 
turn pale. Yes, that was what I came to tell Signor 
Bianchi — and the brigand has never informed her of 
it — that Giannella. Brockmann had become a rich girl 
with an income of two thousand scudi, left her by 
her uncle, two thousand big silver scudi every year, 
all for herself; that she is no longer obliged to live 


GIANNELLA 


311 

on charity, but is now a young lady with a dowry 
that will ensure her a good husband and a comfortable 
establishment whenever she chooses. I came as the 
bearer of this beautiful news — and you insult me as 
if I were an executioner! ’’ 

The last part of this speech was lost on his audi- 
ence. Mariuccia had sunk back on a chair, her face 
gray with emotion, and Giannella was kneeling beside 
her, covering her gnarled hands with kisses and cry- 
ing through a rain of happy tears, Mariuccia, do 
you understand? I am rich, rich, and now I can re- 
pay you for all your goodness to me. You shall have 
clothes, shoes, meat, old wine — a new bed for your 
poor tired body, with soft blankets — two thousand 
scudi — every year, for always ? Oh, you shall have 
a gold chain as thick as my finger and earrings with 
pearls as big as figs. Oh, what have I done that such 
happiness should come to me. Madonna mia Santis- 
sima — I shall die of joy.” 

Not a thought for herself, nor even for Rinaldo; 
not a glimmer of resentment against Bianchi; only the 
passion of gratitude nearly breaking her heart because 
it could be satisfied at last. 

Mariuccia bent down and kissed the golden head. 
Then she took the girl’s face in her two hands and 
looked into it long and silently, a light on her own 
that had never shone there before. She tried to 
speak, but could not; only, two slow tears trickled 
down her cheeks. Giannella put up her soft fingers 
and brushed them away. 


312 


GIANNELLA 


The very last you shall ever shed, Mariuccia mia,” 
she murmured ; ‘‘ we know, we two, what it has been. 
Domine Dio, it is all over ! ” 

Then the old woman rose to her feet and flung up 
her arms with a magnificent gesture of thanksgiving, 
like a prophetess beholding the victories of justice, the 
justifications of her God. After twenty years you 
have heard me. Mother of Mercy ! ” she cried, “ Pro- 
tector of the fatherless. Consoler of the afflicted, 
blessed be your most sweet Name for ever and ever! ” 
De Sanctis turned away and walked to a farther 
window, where he stood looking out and seeing noth- 
ing. His little fabric of false values had tumbled to 
pieces. His shallow appreciations of human nature 
had scaled off like a rotten shroud from a re-risen 
body. His own astuteness, of which he had been so 
proud, Bianchi’s dishonest avarice, the low aims and 
rabid egoism with which he credited mankind at large 
— these were not the spirit level by which to measure 
real men and women. That was set by honest hearts 
incapable of selfish grief or sordid joy, by Goffi, the. 
obscure little artist, entreating his aid to obtain a pen- 
niless bride, by the girl over there, pure of worldly 
taint, by the ignorant old woman who had threatened 
him and his dead with hell. He had looked deep into 
the hearts of all three, and had seen into gold and 
crystal. Being only a prosaic Roman he did not put 
it so poetically. ‘‘ Good folk, good kind folk,” he told 
himself. ‘‘ Beati loro I They are the happy ones. I 
wonder if there are many more of them in the 
world ? ” 


GIANNELLA 


313 


When he looked round again he found that he was 
alone. No flooded streets, no hesitations of timid- 
ity, could weigh with those two rejoicing women. 
They were hastening to San Severino to give thanks 
where thanks were due. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


I N the Cardinal’s study Rinaldo, sitting on the very 
edge of a chair with his hat on his knees, was 
looking eagerly into the benevolent face of the prelate. 
The latter was expressing his thanks in the exquisite 
Italian of the Roman noble; his hand, with his big 
amethyst ring, fingered a malachite paper weight on 
the writing-table; his fine head, crowned with the red 
berretta, reposed against the crimson damask of his 
chair, for he was still languid from his recent indis- 
position. Rinaldo was really thinking less of what 
the Cardinal said than of the delightful picture he 
made — so different from the forlorn lay figure stuck 
into the property chair and draped in the red tablecloth 
that the artist felt as if he ought to do penance for all 
the calumnies on cardinals that he had persuaded the 
dealers to buy from him. Oh, if this beautiful old 
gentleman would let him paint his portrait, here in 
the sober grandeur of his proper surroundings, with 
the long sunbeam falling across his ring and sending 
its reflection up into his eyes. Was it altogether out 
of the question? Oh, of course. He was not dis- 
tinguished enough to venture to suggest such a thing. 
What was this that the Cardinal was saying? 

“ So you see. Signor Goffi, that I have reason to be 
profoundly grateful to you. But for your charity 
and courage my poor friend might have had to re- 
3H 


GIANNELLA 


315 


main yet longer in that terrible situation, and it is 
doubtful whether he should have survived further ex- 
posure. And I had encouraged him to go down there ! 
Never can I forgive myself my thoughtlessness and 
selfishness. I grieve to say that he is rather seriously 
indisposed, but the doctor thinks that with care he 
will soon recover. I pray that it may be so. And 
now, tell me, is there any way in which I can serve 
you? To me it would be the greatest of pleasures 
— and old people can sometimes be useful to young 
ones, you know.’’ 

The charming urbanity of the tone, the courtesy 
which so delicately annihilated the distance between a 
great noble, a prince of the Church, and his unknown, 
middle-class self, touched Rinaldo deeply, and set his 
heart beating with hope as he considered how best to 
frame his request. The Cardinal saw that something 
was coming, and there was a gentle twinkle in his 
eyes as he looked at his visitor. The candid, hand- 
some young face appealed to the inner spring of youth 
which life may seal but never dry up in certain pure 
warm hearts. Rinaldo felt the expressed goodwill as 
he might have become sensible of unexpected warmth 
in the light of a fixed star ; it shed a pleasant radiance 
from very far away. Indeed they two could scarcely 
have been farther apart had they lived till now on 
separate* planets. There was no merging of class and 
class in Rome, then. A prominent dignitary of the 
Church moved in his own sphere of half-mystic great- 
ness, linked with all things sacred and regal. Ex- 
cept for a question of souls, he did not, in the ordinary 


GIANNELLA 


316 

affairs of life (unless he happened to have risen from 
the ranks himself), take any personal cognizance of 
those outside his circle, ecclesiastical, political, and so- 
cial. Paolo Cestaldini had never heard of this young 
man till the night before, and apart from the fact that 
he had nice manners, and evidently belonged to the 
educated ‘‘ mezzo ceto ’’ had not the slightest clue by 
which to judge of his circumstances. 

Well/’ he said encouragingly, what is it, my 
son? I see that your heart has a desire. If it be 
possible for me, it would be my felicity to satisfy it.” 

Oh, Eminenza,” Rinaldo cried, there is indeed 
something, if it would not give you too great trouble 
to confer the greatest of benefits upon me. Not as a 
recompense for the little service I was able to render 
last night — any man would have done the same - — 
and my friend, Sacchetti, helped me — but if, out of 
the great goodness of your heart, you would speak a 
word to Professor Bianchi, and tell him how 
wrong — ” Rinaldo paused, alarmed at the sudden 
sternness of the prelate’s expression. 

“ And what is it that I am to tell the distinguished 
Professor?” All the encouragement was gone from 
the Cardinal’s tone as he asked the question. That 
an unknown youth should suggest criticism, actual con- 
demnation of anything in the conduct of a great light 
of science, his own revered friend, appeared to him as 
a monstrous piece of impertinence. 

But Rinaldo, conscious of the justice of his cause, 
caught boldly at the receding opportunity. ‘‘ Your 


GIANNELLA 


317 


Eminence will pardon me when I explain what must 
sound so presumptuous,” he said firmly. “ The case 
is this: In the Professor’s house there is a young 
girl whom I wish to marry. We love each other 
sincerely. She is good and beautiful, but very poor, 
an orphan whom the Professor’s servant adopted and 
brought up. She helps the old woman to wait on 
him, and though her father was a gentleman and she 
has received a good education, she has for years past 
been contented to regard herself as Signor Bianchi’s 
servant and to be so regarded by him. A short time 
ago he suddenly declared that he wished to marry 
her—” 

“ Marry her ? ” the Cardinal exclaimed, sitting up 
straight in his chair. The Professor wanted to mar- 
ry — a young girl ? His servant ? But what are you 
telling me. Signor Goffi ? Are you sure ? ” 

‘‘ Quite sure, Eminenza, strange as it may seem,” 
Rinaldo replied. “ Giannella had no wish to marry 
him — the poor child shrank with horror from the 
idea, and Mariuccia — that is the old woman — would 
not hear of it. But he persisted, and at last induced 
the most excellent Princess Santafede to interest her- 
self on his behalf. Perhaps your Eminence does not 
know that her Excellency had the great kindness to 
send Giannella to the convent, where she received a 
beautiful education?” 

The Cardinal bent his head. ‘‘ I remember hear- 
ing something of it,” he said. Then he smiled in- 
voluntarily at the recollection of Fra Tommaso’s im- 




GIANNELLA 


318 

passioned appeal about a little girl and a poor woman 
from Castel Gandolfo. He had quite forgotten the 
circumstance till now. 

“ Well,” Rinaldo continued, her gratitude to the 
Princess and the natural respect she felt for such a 
great and good lady made Giannella desirous of obey- 
ing her in all things possible, and when her Excellency 
told her that she should be only too thankful to find 
a disinterested and honorable protector like Signor 
Bianchi, and that it was clearly her duty to accept 
him — Giannella thought it might really be wrong to 
disobey.” 

The Cardinal gave an amused little groan. He had 
often warned his sister that, like many pious ladies, 
she was too eager to pilot young women into respecta- 
ble homes. She had found husbands for three girls 
during the past year; one had proved fairly satisfac- 
tory, but the others had not turned out well. One 
poor thing had run away, no one knew whither, be- 
cause her husband maltreated her, and the other was 
now working like a galley slave to support an idle man. 
And now he learned that, undeterred by these failures, 
she was planning another matrimonial mistake ! 
Really, Teresa must be more prudent. 

Rinaldo went on after a short pause, “ That was 
before Giannella and I quite understood each other, 
Eminenza. Now I do not think she would ever con- 
sent, but it will grieve us both to make an enemy of 
Signor Bianchi, and Giannella wishes to have the ap- 
proval of her Excellency. I asked the avvocato De 
Sanctis to do something, since it was after a visit 


GIANNELLA 


319 


from him that this strange caprice seemed to have 
taken possession of the Professor, but I have heard 
nothing more from him — and time passes and Gian- 
nella is in a very disagreeable situation in the Pro- 
fessor’s house. Oh, Eminenza, I want so much to 
take my sposina to my own home and make her happy. 
I work hard, I have had good fortune of late — I can 
support her. Will you, of your great condescension, 
persuade Signor Bianchi that she is not for him, and 
make him acquiesce in our marriage — and also please 
obtain for us the consent of the Princess? Without 
that Giannella will not be content. We would bless 
you from our hearts and fray for you every time we 
went to Mass.” 

The Cardinal had looked very grave since the men- 
tion of De Sanctis. He recalled the pretty story of 
secret benevolence and ensuing good fortune which 
he had found so consoling to a Christian heart. He 
marshaled the facts in his mind and sorrowfully ad- 
mitted to himself that they were not edifying. It 
would have been bad enough to learn that a distin- 
guished, middle-aged man had lost his head about a 
pretty girl, a mere child in comparison with himself ; 
but the Cardinal could have forgiven that. His long 
experience of human nature had taught him that no 
vagaries were too wild to become facts where the rela- 
tions of man and woman were concerned. But there 
was something worse here, something so ugly that 
it pierced his heart with pain to recognize it for what 
it was — black mortal sin, covetousness, double deal- 
ing, an apparent intention to defraud a defenseless 


320 


GIANNELLA 


girl of her liberty and her property, since the goods 
of the wife would pass absolutely into the keeping of 
the husband unless a pre-matrimonial contract were 
made to secure them to her. And the man who was 
apparently planning this cruelty had long been his own 
friend, his comrade in the delights of high intellectual 
pursuits. The thing was horrible. He shuddered 
and covered his eyes with his hand for a moment, 
praying for light on his own duty in the matter. 

Rinaldo saw that his statement had gone home, and 
he did not venture to interrupt the prelate’s train of 
thought. At last the latter raised his head, and his 
face looked sad and tired. His first duty at least was 
clear to him already. The young people must not 
learn of the poor sinner’s fault if it were possible to 
keep it from them ; he would repent in time — had per- 
haps repented already, by the grace of God, and the 
future must not be made harder for him by publicity 
and scandal. 

“ Figlio mio,” he said very gently, “ this is a strange 
story, and although I am sure you believe it yourself, 
I must know a little more before I can, with any pro- 
priety, venture to advise the Signor Professore on 
such delicate and private affairs. You are quite right 
in wishing to reconcile him, and also my sister, to 
your marriage. The Princess is in villeggiatura at 
present, but I will communicate with her. As for 
Signor De Sanctis, he is my man of business, and I 
am expecting him this morning. With your permis- 
sion,” here the fine old head bent towards Rinaldo 
with exquisite courtesy, I will speak to him of this 


GIANNELLA 


321 


matter, and I have little doubt that a harmonious set- 
tlement can be arrived at. You see, I am taking you 
on trust, my son. I hope that your intentions re- 
garding this young girl are as upright as they appear ; 
and also, if you will pardon an old man for speaking 
so frankly, that your own life is orderly and pious; 
that you practice our holy religion and keep away 
from bad companions. You must not be incensed at 
my suggesting such questions. Matrimony is a holy 
state, and many plunge into it all unprepared to ful- 
fill its obligations.’^ 

‘‘ Eminenza,” Rinaldo replied, I thank you most 
sincerely for taking so much interest in my welfare, 
and I will answer your questions veraciously. As 
for my morals — well, I have been too poor to have 
any vices, and I was well brought up by good, kind 
parents, to whom I have not done sufficient honor, but 
whom I have tried not to grieve. I have worked 
hard, the masters at the Academy were satisfied with 
me, and I obtained the silver medal before I left. The 
president of the Boating Society will tell your Em- 
inence that I never drink — except when I swallow 
too much of the Tiber. As to religion, I am afraid 
I have been forgetful sometimes. When I am very 
happy — or very unhappy — over a picture, I lose 
count of the days of the week and find myself on the 
church steps in my best clothes on Monday or Tues- 
day morning instead of Sunday. And oh, since I am 
telling your Eminence so much about myself, I must 
not forget a horrible crime that I have committed ! ” 
The Cardinal looked up anxiously. I have circu- 


322 


GIANNELLA 


lated the most shocking calumnies, again and again, 
for money.” He laughed ruefully, and the prelate’s 
face became a study of grief and reproach. Yes, 
the Eminenza has a right to look horrified. I had no 
excuse except hunger — and ignorance. I have 
painted cardinals, at least twenty of them, from a 
crippled lay figure with one leg, dressed in an old 
tablecloth. Heaven forgive me — the foreigners who 
bought them had never beheld a cardinal, except per- 
haps in the street, and I never had the honor of speak- 
ing to one till this morning. But I perceive my er- 
rors. I repent, I will sin no more.” 

The prelate was laughing too now, and Rinaldo 
went on more earnestly. ‘‘ As for the Sunday Mass, 
Giannella will not let me forget that when we are 
married. She goes every day. Oh, if the Eminenza 
could only see her. She is so good, so beautiful — 
like Rafifaello’s youngest Madonna, the ‘ Gran Duca.’ ” 

‘‘ Then the contemplation of her must correct your 
faults, my son,” the Cardinal said. Bad art is a sin 
for which even the Grand Penitentiary has no absolu- 
tion. Ah, what is it ? ” 

The chaplain had entered and stood waiting to 
speak. He glanced at Rinaldo disapprovingly. The 
unknown young man had been granted an audience 
of unprecedented length, and it was Don Ignazio’s 
business to see that his revered superior should be 
spared fatigue, and also that respectable visitors should 
not be kept waiting too long before being admitted. 

“ Eminenza,” he said, “ the avvocato De Sanctis has 
been here for some time. I thought you could per- 


GIANNELLA 


323 

haps see him now? But I fear you are tired with so 
much talking already. I could ask him to call again.’’ 

Rinaldo had risen on the chaplain’s entrance. 

Your Eminence has been too kind,” he protested. 

I am ashamed of having trespassed so far on your 
goodness. I remove the inconvenience of my pres- 
ence, with most humble thanks for all the Eminenza’s 
condescension and kindness.” 

As he knelt to kiss the amethyst ring the Cardinal 
bent over to say in a low tone : ‘‘ I will see what can 

be done, and will send for you in a day or two. 
Meanwhile, my son, we will observe silence on all 
this matter, and you must ask your fidanzata to do 
the same. I have good reasons.” 

The Eminenza shall be obeyed,” Rinaldo replied. 
As he was passing through the outer room, he en- 
countered De Sanctis, who stopped to shake hands 
with him, saying, ‘‘ I have been having a little con- 
versation with the Signorina Brockmann and that old 
woman. Go to them. Signor Goffi, I am sure they 
want you. Incidentally I may say that you will find 
them prepared to answer all the questions with which 
you peppered me the other day. Diascoci, I think it 
is lucky for Bianchi that he is ill in bed, where you 
cannot get at him when you are satisfied as to the 
cause of his alarming dementia. Arrivederci. Yes, 
Don Ignazio, here I come.” This to the chaplain, 
who was beckoning to him from a farther doorway. 

The study was empty when De Sanctis was ushered 
into it and he sat down to wait for his patron. In 
ten minutes or so the latter returned. “ I have been 


324 


GIANNELLA 


to the Professor’s room,” the Cardinal explained when 
the first greetings were over. “ I wished to see for 
myself how he was going on and to ascertain whether 
he would be equal to a little conversation to-day.” 

‘‘I trust he is quite convalescent, Eminenza?” De 
Sanctis replied. '' I am deeply sorry to learn of his 
accident. I had no idea — ” 

But the Cardinal held up his hand for silence, and 
the lawyer got his lecture in stern, unsparing words, to 
which he listened with becoming humility and an ap- 
pearance of such true contrition that the prelate 
softened, relented, and finally took him back into grace. 

Something had wrought a change in De Sanctis’s 
mood. To his own surprise he found himself inclined 
to admit that his desertion of the absent-minded Pro- 
fessor the day before was rather a shabby action. In 
consequence he was regretfully but logically obliged 
to lay aside his intention of discrediting the other man 
in the Cardinal’s estimation. His natural curiosity, 
however, was by no means subdued, and he longed to 
know why Goffi had remained an hour shut up with 
the prelate in his study, and what, besides a mere 
polite acknowledgment of the artist’s timely help, 
could have furnished the matter of the interview. The 
Cardinal himself led the conversation in the desired 
direction. 

“ Signor Goffi has just left me,” he said, ‘‘ and he 
told me that he called upon you the other day, Gugliel- 
mo. Since he spoke frankly about the object of his 
visit, I hope you will not consider me indiscreet if I 
ask you to do the same. He related a rather strange 


GIANNELLA 


325 

story. Should you feel justified in telling me what 
you know about it ? ” 

“ I think so, Eminenza/’ De Sanctis replied ; “ the 
Signorina Brockmann is the person chiefly concerned, 
and she seems to be in need of help and advice, which 
have failed her where she had a right to expect them. 
I am betraying no confidence in telling your Em- 
inence that she has only this moment, and in this 
house, learned of her inheritance. For some unex- 
plained reason Professor Bianchi has abstained from 
informing her of it.” 

“ Why did you not tell her yourself, at the time? ” 
the Cardinal inquired. 

‘‘ The Professor was unwilling that I should speak 
to her on the subject,” said the lawyer. ‘‘ He de- 
scribed her as rather a hysterical girl. He feared the 
sudden excitement might be too much for her nerves, 
and preferred to communicate the good news gently 
and in private.” 

The Cardinal was silent for a moment. Then he 
asked, Are you sure that she was not told anything? 
What led you to speak to her about it now ? ” 

Then De Sanctis told him of his own slowly-awak- 
ened suspicions, of Rinaldo’s appeal and evident ig- 
norance of the facts, which Ciannella would certainly 
have confided to him had she been in possession of 
them, and finally he described Mariuccia’s recent at- 
tack on him and Ciannella^s intense emotion when she 
learned what had first brought him to Professor Bian- 
chi’s house. All showed conclusively that Bianchi 
had kept the matter to himself, together with the cash 


326 GIANNELLA 

for which the girl had signed a receipt in the lawyer’s 
presence. 

When he had ended, the Cardinal asked one ques- 
tion more. Is it true that Bianchi is trying to marry 
the girl ? ” 

So Mariuccia and Goffi affirm,” replied the other. 
And for the life of him he could not help adding, 
‘‘ He appears very anxious to do so at once. This 
is August — and she will be of age on the eighth of 
September.” 

Her money would become her husband’s in any 
case, would it not ? ” the Cardinal inquired. 

“ It could be secured to her in the marriage con- 
tract if her friends so wished,” was the reply. The 
usual proceeding is to set apart a certain portion of 
the dowry for the wife’s own use, while the remainder 
comes under the jurisdiction of the husband, to be ap- 
plied to family expenses in common.” 

I know,” said the Cardinal. But if no agree- 
ment to this effect were made before marriage, all 
monies she then possessed, knowingly or unknowingly, 
would pass unconditionally to her husband ? ” The 
tone implied a desire to have the statement contra- 
dicted. 

They would pass unconditionally to her hus- 
band,” De Sanctis repeated. Then he began to study 
the pattern of the carpet, for the Cardinal was leaning 
his head on his hand and evidently thinking deeply. 
At last he looked up, saying, ‘‘ In speaking to the girl 
did you comment on the Professor’s silence?” 


GIANNELLA 


327 


I touched on it, Eminenza, but she appeared to 
take no notice, and nothing more was said on that sub- 
ject/’ 

That is well,” said the Cardinal ; “ and now, my 
son, since we are on the question of marriages, what 
do you think of that young Goffi? He struck me as 
an amiable, honest fellow. Would he make a good 
husband for this poor child ? Do you know anything 
about him ? ” 

“ I too was pleased with him, Eminenza,” replied 
De Sanctis heartily, “ and I took the trouble to make 
inquiries. He has an excellent record, and a small 
property of his own. Giannella could not do better 
than marry him.” 

And Giannella herself — is she all he thinks her? ” 
The Cardinal put the question with a doubtful smile. 

These little females are sadly deceptive sometimes, 
Guglielmo mio.” The speaker sighed over the general 
shortcomings of Eve’s degenerate daughters. 

But the lawyer replied with an earnestness which 
was most unusual for him, I believe she is really as 
good as she is pretty, Eminenza, and one cannot say 
more than that. Only her scruples have caused her 
and Goffi some unhappiness. The eccelentissima Prin- 
cipessa, who knew nothing of the other suitor, having 
told her that she ought to marry Bianchi, she im- 
agined it might be criminal to disobey. She has a 
good heart. Just now, when she learned from me 
that she possessed this little fortune, what do you 
suppose was her first thought? To reward that cross 


328 


GIANNELLA 


old woman for taking care of her. She nearly went 
mad with joy when she found she could do that. Oh, 
she will make a good wife, that girl.” 

“ I am rejoiced to hear it,” said the Cardinal; “ as 
I have told you before, Guglielmo, you should find 
such another for yourself. To live alone is not good 
for a young man in the world. It either exposes him 
to temptation — or else it hardens his heart. I have 
sometimes feared, my son, that it might be having 
the latter effect upon you. I should rejoice to know 
that you were happily married.” 

‘‘ Eminenza,” replied De Sanctis, smiling, I per- 
ceive that matchmaking runs in your illustrious fam- 
ily. I will remember your warning, and try to find 
time to fall in love. Meanwhile, in order to avoid 
any hardening of heart, shall I do what I can to ar- 
range the affairs of these devoted young people? 
Signor Bianchi being unable at this moment to offer 
obstruction — ” 

“ Gently, gently,” the Cardinal interrupted. ‘‘We 
must not overlook him altogether, that would be dis- 
courteous. And he should have an opportunity of ex- 
plaining himself. Perhaps he was only planning a 
pleasant surprise for his young friend on her birth- 
day? ” 

“ Or on the day she was to become his wife? ” sug- 
gested De Sanctis sarcastically. “ Oh, Eminenza, the 
casuistries of your charity are as unscrupulous as any 
of those we poor disciples of the law are accused of.” 

The Cardinal smiled half apologetically as he re- 
plied, “ Charity is rather an abnormal creature, my 


GIANNELLA 


329 


dear Guglielmo. She often has to close her eyes to 
find her way. When she opens them again she gen- 
erally beholds that which she desired to see. So for 
the present we will stand aside and keep silence as to 
our opinion of our neighbor’s conduct — and Charity 
perhaps will whisper something in his ear. Then 
when she beckons to us to approach and reckon with 
him we may find — that we were mistaken all along, 
that his intentions were neither dishonest nor unkind, 
but only a little unwise. That will give us all great 
pleasure, will it not ? ” 

“ I am conquered,” declared De Sanctis. “ Any- 
thing that gives you pleasure, Eminenza, will certainly 
do so to me. You are the best argument for Chris- 
tianity that I ever met. Let me know, I pray, when 
the marriage contract is required. It will be inter- 
esting to draw it up — and to make the kind, candid 
Professor Bianchi witness it.” 

Go away. You are incorrigible,” laughed the 
Cardinal. And the lawyer bowed himself out. 


CHAPTER XXV 


R INALDO learned from the servant in the hall 
that the women had left the palazzo in haste, 
saying something about going to San Severino. So 
he hurried thither by the tortuous side ways whence 
the water was already draining rapidly. Meanwhile 
Mariuccia was standing in the archway leading to the 
chapel of the Bona Mors, in excited colloquy with 
Fra Tommaso. When the old sacristan understood 
the facts his face beamed with satisfaction. Mari- 
uccia’s was not less radiant, though it showed that 
she was still deeply impressed by the recent revela- 
tions. To her the whole thing was a two-fold wonder 
— her Giannella’s good fortune, and a visible answer 
to her many prayers ; also the vindication of her sore- 
ly-tried belief in the rich relations “ over there whom 
she had materialized for Giannella so many years ago 
out of her own sense of the fitness of things. ‘‘ Oh, 
Fra Tommaso mio,” she cried, ‘‘ how I thank you for 
your good prayers. Surely you have obtained this 
great happiness for me that Giannella does not go to 
her husband’s people like a beggar! My brother’s 
daughters, even, brought enough to be well received 
by their mothers-in-law — to be able to hold up their 
heads on Sundays with the rest, and she, poor little 
thing, she was to be married ‘ cola camicia,’ without 
a sheet or a towel, or a pair of earrings! No, the 

330 


GIANNELLA 


331 


Madonna knew that it would break my heart. She 
has spared me this shame. Giannella can show cup- 
boards full of linen when the rich mamma from Or- 
betello comes to poke her nose about in the young peo- 
ple's house ; she can make presents to the sisters of her 
husband, we can send the confetti in beautiful gilt 
boxes! Quick, give me two of your biggest candles. 
I have the money here for them — and light them for 
me on the altar of the Addolorata.” 

Fra Tommaso spread out his hands in deprecation. 
“ Never mind about paying for these candles, com- 
mara. I will gladly make you a present of them, 
for I rejoice in your felicity. Did I not always tell 
you that all would happen as you wished ? The Bion- 
dina has grown up an angel — the relations were 
there all the time, they have proved rich, and have 
died in good dispositions, for all of which virtues may 
God reward them and rest their souls. And here is 
the good, handsome young man whom you had figured 
to yourself for Giannella’s husband! Signorino, my 
most respectful felicitations and good wishes to you 
and the young lady." This last to Rinaldo, who at 
that moment arrived upon the scene. He had caught 
a few words of the rhapsody, but they conveyed little 
to him. Old people like Fra Tommaso could not 
speak without certain extravagances of voice and 
gesture ; they only meant that he was feeling well and 
that his heart was even fuller than usual of sympathy 
with his kind. Mariuccia had apparently announced 
the intended marriage, and the good wishes of course 
referred to that. ‘‘ I thank you, Fra Tommaso," he 


332 


GIANNELLA 


answered, smiling at the sacristan’s enthusiasm. “ I 
am very much to be congratulated, and I am flattered 
to know that you think my betrothed is in the same 
good case. I hope you will soon ring the bells for a 
fine wedding Mass. But,” he turned to Mariuccia, 
“ where is Giannella ? And why did you two run 
away so suddenly? I was just coming to see you 
safely home.” 

“ Go and ask Giannella,” Mariuccia replied trium- 
phantly. “ Let her tell you what sent us here in 
such a hurry. We did not get so very wet either.” 
She turned up her foot to take a look at the sole of 
her boot. ‘‘ She is in the chapel inside there, the 
usual place.” 

Rinaldo found Giannella kneeling as she had knelt 
on that first morning, her face hidden in her hands, 
the white rosary slipping through her fingers. He 
stood beside her, and this time she raised her head and 
looked up into his face. Her own was very calm 
and radiant. She slid her hand into his and motioned 
to him to kneel beside her. 

“ God has been good to us,” she whispered. Finish 
the rosary with me, and then I will tell you what has 
happened.” 

An hour or two later the three were sitting at the 
round table in the Professor’s dining-room. Mari- 
uccia had hastily got together a simple feast, and the 
board was decorated by a great bunch of flowers 
pressed upon her by Fra Tommaso, who had snipped 
off many a cherished carnation and oleander blossom 
to send a ‘‘ bel bocche ” to the Biondina. 


GIANNELLA 


333 


Rinaldo had been told the story and was frankly 
delighted. “Not for myself/’ he protested; “as for 
me, I am indifferentissimo about riches. I had satis- 
fied myself that Giannella could never want for any- 
thing, not even for the drive on Sundays, the theater 
once a fortnight, and the three week’s villeggiatura in 
September, all of which are a wife’s due. All this 
I could have provided easily, and I give you my word 
as a galantuomo that neither my family nor my friends 
should ever have known that Giannella had no dowry. 
The linen we would have bought little by little, and 
she should have embroidered it all in her maiden 
name as is proper ; so that when everything was ready, 
and we ask my good mamma and the girls to come 
and see us, they would have beheld that they must 
treat her with all respect. They are disinterested; 
yes, we have never disquieted ourselves about money 
in my family, but certain things are expected, as you 
know, and I should not have wished them to be want- 
ing. Nevertheless, this good fortune will bring a 
great increase of happiness. Giannella can have many 
more pleasures, and there will never be any anxieties. 
I shall continue to work perseveringly — we will live 
in peace and much comfort; and all the money we do 
not spend we will put aside for the education of our 
sons and the doweries of our daughters. Mariuccia 
must live with us and grow fat — better late than 
never, Sora Mariuccia mia! And we shall be the 
happiest family in Rome ! ” 

“ And we will have the padrone — I mean the 

Signor Professore, to dinner every Sunday,” said 
22 


334 


GIANNELLA 


Giannella, who had been listening breathlessly to 
Rinaldo’s description of the enchanting future; ‘‘poor 
man, he will be so lonely without us two women.” 

Rinaldo made a wry face. “ I think I could do 
without the Signor Professore,” he ventured to say. 
“ Without rancor, I must confess that the part he has 
played in all this is most inexplicable, if he is at all 
an honest man, which (Mariuccia, you must forgive 
me) I sadly doubt. In fact I suspect — ” 

But Giannella laid her fingers on his lips. “ You 
suspect nothing, Rinaldo mio. Are you rude enough 
to say that I am so ugly and so stupid that he could 
not fall in love with me — properly in love? Can 
you doubt that his affection prompted him to arrange 
a charming little surprise for me when I should come 
of age? Incredulous one, that is the evident truth, 
and to controvert known truth is mortal sin.” 

“ It requires a robust act of faith to accept your 
definition, my angel,” said Rinaldo, “ but I suppose I 
must. Behold a new dogma! Signor Carlo Bianchi 
is a disinterested old fellow with a singularly suscep- 
tible heart. Fiat! Rome — that is to say, Giannella 
has spoken. Doubt becomes transgression. I doubt 
no more.” 

“ Amen,” came in Mariuccia’s deepest tones from 
across the table, where she has paused in splitting a 
fresh fig to listen frowningly to Rinaldo’s arraign- 
ment of the padrone’s conduct. Now she smiled con- 
tentedly at her two light-hearted children, finished her 
fig to the last drop of honey, and dipped her fingers 
in the glass water bowl which is never wanting on 


GIANNELLA 


335 


the poorest Roman table. “ Come, bambini,’' she said, 

we will drink his health. May my poor little 
padroncino recover immediately and come back to his 
own home.” 

The three glasses were raised whole-heartedly ; 
when they were set down, it was evident that Charity 
had once more closed her eyes to find her way. 

As the day wore to its close, the half-drowned city 
seemed to raise its head and, turning from the muddy 
deposits at its feet, to look up at the clear new blue 
of the sky with deep thankfulness that the long, de- 
pressing scirocco was over; that, although September 
was still to come, the heat of the summer was broken 
and the ever-desired autumn near at hand. A fresh 
breeze, with a touch of tramontana in it, was blow- 
ing down over Soracte and the Cimmerian hills, and 
fretted with crisp wavelets the stretches of yellow 
water which still trespassed on Ripetta and the neigh- 
boring streets. On roof-garden and window-ledge 
little lemon-trees and verbena bushes spread green 
arms to the tempered sunshine, to the cool wind; 
swallows sailed joyously in ever-rising circles, their 
white breasts flashing like silver shields as they turned 
to the low sun, their shrill cries filling the air with 
sharp, clear sound. Far away, behind Saint Peter’s, 
the sky was streaked into long level bars of gold and 
rose and crysophrase, bars where feathery cloudlets 
caught and hung like notes of floating flame — the 
score of some symphony played by the seraphs very 
far away. 


336 


GIANNELLA 


The sunset light shone softly into the windows of 
a bedroom in Palazzo Cestaldini, and illuminated two 
faces, that of a sick sinner and his friend. The 
Professor looked more gaunt and pale than ever 
sitting up against his pillows in the spotless, ascetic 
little room. The doctor had confided to the chaplain 
that the sick man appeared to have something on his 
mind — could the Eminenza perhaps exercise the kind 
condescension of paying him a visit? The Eminenza 
who had only been waiting for the medico’s permis- 
sion, glided in a few moments later, dismissed his 
attendant, and drew a chair to the bedside. 

Bianchi, sufficiently recovered to be grateful for 
this honor, began to express his regret for having 
caused so much trouble in the illustrious household, 
but the Cardinal forbade him to waste his strength in 
unnecessary words, and in the most natural way made 
it appear that all the honor and all the regrets were 
his. The Professor was to understand that the mas- 
ter of the house and everyone else connected with the 
recent events would never cease to reproach them- 
selves for their part in the catastrophe, and all that 
the Cardinal personally desired was an opportunity 
to make some reparation. Was there not something 
he could do for his good friend, some matter of busi- 
ness, great or small, which might suffer by delay, and 
which, the Professor could comfort his host’s heart 
by permitting him tO‘ attend to for him? In a life 
all devoted to study, little things were apt to escape 
one, as he knew too well by personal experience; he 
himself, he declared, was the most forgetful of men. 


GIANNELLA 


337 


and during his recent indisposition, when he was lying 
awake with fever, several neglected details had come 
back to him with painful but wholesome persistence. 
He said that he had thus been led to make up his 
mind to clear them off once for all ; indeed to put all his 
personal affairs into such good order and safe hands, 
that, if a real illness came, and Heaven pleased to call 
him aw^ay, his poor soul should have no distractions 
on the journey. That was sure to be a serious ex- 
pedition in any case, and one did not want to be 
weighed down with unportable baggage ! 

The suave voice ran on, with the echo of gentle 
laughter here and there; the wise, untroubled eyes 
seemed to see all the sick man’s inner perturbations, 
and smiled their promise of comradeship and help; 
and, as the words ceased, the brotherly hand laid 
itself on the Professor’s hot fingers with a strong, 
beneficent clasp that seemed to say, ‘‘If temptation 
still lingers near, we will overcome it together.” 

The sick man gazed at his comforter in ever-in- 
creasing wonder. Was it true, then, that very holy 
persons could see into the minds of others; needed no 
words to tell them what was passing there? Ah no, 
he was growing fanciful; the Cardinal was no doubt 
talking academically, in amiable generalities, like any 
polished man of the world. How could he dream of 
the specters of fear and remorse which had crowded 
round Carlo Bianchi in that horrible, submerged 
crypt? Before the final collapse had robbed him of 
consciousness, every dream of the past three months 
had been renounced, with vows, on condition of being 


338 


GIANNELLA 


brought out alive, had been renounced again, with 
frenzied persistence, when death loomed near and 
rescue failed. No allurement on earth should tempt 
him to go back on his promises, to find himself in 
corporal peril and mortal sin again at one and the 
same time. He had pondered how to begin a confi- 
dence which was necessary to the instant clearing up 
of his account towards Giannella, for he needed help, 
and there was no one, except his host, whom he could 
entrust with a delicate commission. 

How well your Eminence understands a scholar’s 
mind,” he said at last. How true it is that Science, 
like Sara, is a jealous mistress, and will have the 
house to herself. Poor earthly matters are turned 
out, homeless Hagars and Ishmaels, to take their 
chance, uncared for and forgotten.” 

The Cardinal looked amused. It was funny to 
have Scripture quoted at him by a layman. The 
Professor continued more gravely, “ Since your 
Eminence is so very kind, there is a small matter 
which occurred to me as I was lying here. But I 
hesitate to trouble you with such trifles.” 

Nothing which can conduce to your comfort is 
a trifle, my dear friend,” the Cardinal replied, ‘‘ and 
it would rejoice me to have to take any trouble for 
you, but I fear you will not favor me so greatly. 
Is the matter connected with your household? Your 
servant and the Signorina Brockmann were here this 
morning, inquiring anxiously for your respected 
health. The doctor satisfied them on that point, but 
would not permit you to be disturbed.” 


GIANNELLA 


339 


“ I am very much obliged to him,” exclaimed 
Bianchi. I mean, I should prefer to see them later 

— when this little affair is regulated. The truth is 

— it had passed from my mind — but there is some 
money,” he brought out the word with a half- 
impenitent sigh, ‘‘ and also papers, which should have 
been put into Giannella’s hands in a week or two — 
when she comes of age. Perhaps, considering all 
things, she had better take them over — and — have 
the business explained to her now. It will save time 

— and — would it be possible for your Eminence to 
send a person of confidence to my apartment, with this 
key ? ” He fumbled nervously under his pillow, 
where Domenico had bestowed the contents of his 
pockets the night before, and drew out a rusty key. 

The secretary by the window, in my study — second 
shelf on the left hand — a parcel tied up with a red 
string. If I could have it brought to me? But I 
am ashamed of giving so much trouble.” 

My chaplain will fetch it himself, at once,” the 
Cardinal assured him ; “ he is most careful and trust- 
worthy. If you will kindly touch that bell at your 
side?” 

The summons was quickly answered and Don 
Ignazio received his orders and departed to carry them 
out. “ And now, amico,” said the Cardinal, leaning 
back in his chair, and folding his fingers tip to tip 
while he looked into the Professor’s face with a 
pleasant light of satisfaction on his own, ‘‘ if you are 
not too tired to bear a little more conversation, I 
have a story to tell you, a love story. Figure to your- 


340 


GIANNELLA 


self how badly I shall tell it. But it concerns two 
good young people, your Giannella and a very respect- 
able young man. And though love stories are nearly 
as far from your province as from mine, I think this 
one will interest you. Shall I go on ? ” 

The Professor turned a shade paler and his face 
twitched slightly, but he begged the Eminenza to 
proceed. ^ 

So the Cardinal, in few and direct words, gave him 
the history of the little romance, described Goffi’s 
circumstances and the disinterested affection which he 
appeared to entertain for the girl, ignored altogether 
the fact of the Professor’s own intentions regarding 
her, and the support so cunningly obtained thereto 
from the Princess, and wound up by drawing an 
alluring picture of Giannella’s old protector and 
friend received as the honored and beloved guest in 
the cheerful household, where, as age approached, 
he would find that atmosphere of intimacy and affec- 
tion which he had never had time to create for 
himself. There would be young voices, fresh inter- 
ests, little children to take on his knee, the home, in 
fact, for which the Italian has no name and has never 
needed one but which he understands and cherishes 
with reverent care. The Churchman, who had put 
all family joys aside to follow the strict counsels of 
perfection, described these things with such tenderness 
and charm that some secret chord in his hearer’s heart 
was touched. Bianchi turned away his face, but put 
out his hand timidly in search of his friend’s. The 
mute appeal was instantly met, and this time the 


GIANNELLA 


341 


Professor’s fingers clung almost convulsively to those 
of Paolo Cestaldini, who laid his other hand over them 
and sat thus for awhile, letting the little spring of 
long- foregone emotion have its way in silence in the 
other’s heart. 

At last Bianchi spoke, low and huskily. Emi- 
nenza, there was a young man once, who put his 
youth behind him, not as you did, for the love of 
God, but for ambition, desire of distinction, the saving 
of money, for leisure to study, study, study, undis- 
turbed by the claims of the heart, of the family. And 
those things which were meant to be his servants 
became his masters, and used his strength, his eye- 
sight, his very life, and gave him uncertain payments, 
sometimes generous, sometimes cruel and bitter. But 
the years had passed and there was nothing else. 
And he cheated himself into believing that he desired 
nothing else. But he was always a little hungry, in 
his soul, for Religion, finding he did not need her, 
had left him to himself. Then, when he was growing 
old, came two temptations, a young girl in whom he 
began to take pleasure and comfort, and money, which 
had always appeared to him a very desirable thing. 
A little silence, a little harmless deception — and both, 
he thought could be his. So he snatched at them — 
and fell, in intention he fell, almost in deed.” Here 
Bianchi turned his head and gazed at the Cardinal 
very sadly through his spectacles. Eminenza, how 
can he regain his self-respect? How can he come 
and go in such a home as you describe, when, but 
for a terrible and sudden warning, he would have 


342 


GIANNELLA 


stolen the girl, and her fortune too, for his own soli- 
tary impoverished self? Dove mai? Poveraccio, he 
can never look her or her husband in the face — and 
they can never see him without remembering and 
detesting his disloyalty.” 

If I knew that man of whom you speak,” the 
Cardinal replied gravely, “ I would say to him, 
' Amico mio, even for sins of intention some chas- 
tisement is due, and perhaps you might put what you 
call the loss of self-respect against that account, 
though in truth the loss you deplore seems more like 
the loss of self-confidence. That, to poor human 
nature, is like cutting off the finest branch of the tree, 
but on the scar may be grafted two sweet and healing 
fruits, humanity and vigilance. But for this shock 
who knows but that self-confidence might have led 
you even more helplessly astray in time to come? 
Therefore, friend, you are not poorer, but richer, 
by the deprivation.’ And as for the other point, that 
of how the persons concerned may regard him, I 
would tell that man that very happy people have no 
time to remember and detest. There is no room for 
resentment in hearts that are full of joy and affection. 
A kind word, a pleasant look, a little service rendered 
— and these good souls say to themselves, " Behold, 
it was all a mistake! How stupid we were to think 
he wished us ill. Why, here is a good true friend — 
how could we ever have believed him an enemy ? ’ 
And should the poor man feel the need of making 
some reparation, how many opportunities he will have 
of showing kindness, of giving wise advice, of recon- 


GIANNELLA 


343 


ciling those small differences which must arise from 
time to time even in the most united families! If he 
ever really meditated an injury, he will convert it 
into a thousand benefits which the recipients will bless 
him for, never dreaming that he owes them anything, 
that he is paying them a debt. Oh, Professor mio, 
only a priest knows what miracles of kindness and 
self-sacrifice self-accusation can bring forth. Blessed 
are those who weep over their own faults! Their 
tears are turned to sunshine for others ere they fall.” 

The sun had long set, the swift night had darkened 
the room, and the Cardinal could not see his friend’s 
face. His good-night blessing was answered in an 
almost inaudible whisper, but, as he passed out, some- 
thing like a sob fell on his ear. The Professor’s 
heart had come to life at last. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


I T was the first Sunday in October, the jewel day 
of the Roman year. Tiny clouds, mere flecks 
of transparent silver, chased each other across the 
pale sapphire of the sky; a delicate breeze was danc- 
ing up from the sea; the campagna looked like a 
mantle of gold fretted at the rim with a crest of 
melting amethyst, where the Albans and the Sabines, 
Soracte and the Cimmerian hills, lifted their strong 
yet tender outlines to round the horizon in. The 
swallows, dainty sybarites who take their pleasures 
seriously, were marshaling their airy forces for mi- 
gration, the wise old veterans, who have made the 
journey for many an autumn, teaching the neophytes 
the secret of long flight, shepherding them into their 
places in the V-shaped squadrons where the strongest 
winged of the silver-breasted patriarchs cleaves the 
air like a sentient arrow head, taking advantage of 
every current that sets in the chosen direction, sailing 
gently on with it where it helps, and the flock may 
sweep forward without a stroke, yet rising with in- 
stant decision at the precise distance from the ground 
where flight would lose its impetus. Perfect math- 
ematicians, tracing their angles on viewless maps — 
wary old commanders husbanding their followers’ 
strength to the last moment, seconded by a score of 
experienced officers who accompany and follow the 
344 


GIANNELLA 


345 


flock, herd in the wonld-be stragglers, scold the lazy, 
encourage the weak, place the youngest of all in the 
center of the batallion so that the encounter with a 
contrary breeze may be broken for them and the un- 
tried wings helped by the fanning of stronger pinions 
behind — who that has watched the mobilizing of 
the swallows’ army during the three weeks of the 
autumn, when the Staff consults on the housetops 
and sends its drill sergeants out to teach the recruits 
their business and train them into condition for 
miracles of enduring flight — who that has watched 
this would ever dare to arrogate the splendors of in- 
telligence to mankind alone? Were one race on 
this earth as dutiful to racial obligations, as perfect 
in obedience, in endurance, in family discipline and 
military instinct as the swallow — that race would rule 
the world. 

“ Rondinella, pellegrina,” Giannella murmured as 
she watched the swallows from her workroom win- 
dow on that Sunday morning, ‘‘ I envy you no longer. 
Fra Tommaso’s pigeons are happier than you. One 
abiding home for them, one home for me. And 
God grant I may never have to leave it. Si, Mari- 
uccia, I am ready.” 

Yes, she was ready for her marriage. Robed in silk 
of the October heaven’s own blue even as Rinaldo 
had dreamed of her, with a white veil over the 
golden hair that had so long been shaded by the 
black, a little string of pearls round her soft neck, 
white prayer-book and white rosary in the still whiter 
hands — a flush of gay carnation on the cheek, the 


GIANNELLA 


346 

happiness of morning in her innocent eyes — Gian- 
nella was ready for her marriage. The dark days 
were over; the sentinels of sorrow and privation that 
had so long guarded her narrow path had shed their 
somber armor now, and stood revealed, bright spirits 
of love and trust, bidding her pass forward to the 
sunny glades beyond. 

As Mariuccia entered, Giannella came and kissed 
her old friend tenderly and then stood back to admire 
her splendid appearance. The treasured costume had 
come out of the goatskin trunk at last; here was the 
full skirt of flowered silk, the scarlet corselet and 
sleeves, the gold trimmings, the lace shawl and apron 
— creamy with the kiss of Time. But Time seemed 
to have forgiven Mariuccia a score of years this 
morning; the erect old figure was almost supple in its 
buoyancy, there was color in her cheeks, a sparkle in 
her eyes, her head was held high, as if to show off 
the fine fat pearls dangling from her ears. Her 
bosom heaved with pride under a long heavy string 
of new red coral — and her shoes creaked excruciat- 
ingly as she moved, for in the triumph of her heart 
she had commanded that brigand of a shoemaker to 
put a double ‘‘ scrocchio into each solid hole. 
Cipicchia! If people turned their heads to look at 
her to-day, all the better for them ! 

Giannella’s admiration found no time for expres- 
sion, for behind Mariuccia appeared another figure, 
that of the Professor, solemnly resplendent in full 
evening dress, white tie and white gloves. He seemed 
happy too this October morning, and as he came 


GIANNELLA 


347 


forward to present Giannella with an enormous bou- 
quet of white camellias, his eyes shone cheerfully 
behind a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles given to him 
by Rinaldo and henceforth to be kept for great oc- 
casions. There was nothing in his look or manner 
to suggest regrets, and if he had had to •struggle with 
depression and remorse, he had evidently bested his 
enemies and turned them into peaceful denizens of 
the house of his soul. The Cardinal, on the plausible 
pretext of Signor Bianchi’s illness, had himself seen 
to the transfer of Giannella’s property into her own 
keeping; and since the hour he had bidden his friend 
good-night in the summer dusk, no word or look of 
those around him had reminded the Professor of his 
fault. De Sanctis had been gently put aside by the 
prelate when he offered to draw up the marriage 
contract. “ No, Guglielmo mio,’’ said Carlo Bianchi’s 
friend, ‘‘ we will employ someone else. You are too 
intimate with all the parties. You might have a 
moment’s distraction and neglect an important point. 
That would never do.” 

The young lawyer was nettled. ‘‘ The Eminenza is 
afraid my sharp tongue might disturb the general 
harmony,” he ventured to remark. “ But have I not 
promised silence as to all inconvenient facts? Surely 
I might be trusted to keep my word.” 

Yes,” the Cardinal said, ‘‘ your tongue would 
keep silence, I am assured. But all the good will in 
the world will not banish that little demon of malice 
and mockery from your glance and tone. So we will 
not expose you to temptation. When all is over, the 


348 


GIANNELLA 


demon will find no fun in making trouble, and then, 
if you wish, you can cultivate intimacy with the Sig- 
nor Professore and the Goffis. Just now, my son, it is 
better for you to keep away from them/’ 

So Bianchi had enjoyed a short space of carefully- 
guarded con\»alescence for body and mind. When 
he was able to leave his room he had had an ecstatic 
hour over the Greek head, which was temporarily 
reposing on a velvet cushion in the Cardinal’s study. 
It was quite as beautiful as he had thought when he 
found it in the wet darkness of the crypt, and he had 
drawn much soothing and peace of spirit from the 
preparation of an article on it, which The Archceo- 
logical Review would carry to lovers of art all over 
the world. Yet he had not forgotten Paolo Cestal- 
dini’s little sermon on reparation, and various pretty 
gifts from him had been sent to the appartamentiiio 
on the roof where the sposini were to begin life 
together. 

Now he was to take the bride to the church, and 
it was with much stateliness that he offered her his 
arm and led her through the dark passage, through 
the green door which she had so often run to open 
for him, and down into the courtyard, where the 
carriage was waiting for them. Mariuccia, after tak- 
ing one look at the fire and another at the collation on 
the dining-room table, hurried after them, thrusting 
the heavy doorkey into the long-unused pocket of the 
best dress. She laughed as she felt some hard ob- 
jects there and discovered them to be pellicles of pitted 
sugar. ‘‘ Confetti ! They must have lain there since 


GIANNELLA 


349 

Stefano’s marriage, more than thirty years ago. 
Mamma mia, we do grow old ! ” 

As the little party ascended the steps of the San 
Severino, Giannella trembling a little and looking in- 
deed as lovely as the ‘‘ youngest Madonna,” Mari- 
uccia pulled three large silver pieces from the corner 
of her new pocket handkerchief and presented them 
to the expectant beggars. 

The habitues of the porch were fewer by two than 
in the old days ; the parish epileptic had died suddenly 
and happily on the altar steps while attending Mass; 
the footless baby had grown — not up, but big, and 
he pattered about in great contentment on padded 
hands and knees ; it was understood that he had 
pensioned off his shiftless parent and had a nice 
little home of his own. The blind man was truly 
blind now, and the privileged cripple by the door 
was absent on rainy days, owing to rheumatism, but 
on a fine Sunday morning he still raised the leather 
curtain with his old grace. The blessings that fol- 
lowed the bride and her companions were loud and 
long, and the' many churchgoers, hurrying to Mass 
before rushing out to the country for the day, stood 
smilingly aside to let the wedding party pass in. 

Just within the doorway the bridegroom was wait- 
ing with a company of his friends, all in evening dress 
and wearing flowers in their buttonholes. Peppino, 
bubbling over with whispered fun, was trying to 
calm Rinaldo, who, between discomfort in the un- 
accustomed costume, tight white gloves which would 

not fasten properly, and doubt as to which of his 

23 


350 


GIANNELLA 


pockets contained the ring and which the gold and 
silver coins he must produce when the priest should 
bid him endow Giannella with all his worldly goods, 
had worked himself up to a condition allied to frenzy. 
The sight of Giannella restored him to some command 
of himself, and by the time they were kneeling to- 
gether before the altar of the Addolorata he could 
forget earthly preoccupations, listen to the padre’s 
exhortations on the duties of the married state, and 
pray with true and humble faith never to fail in love 
and honor to his dear beautiful bride. 

They came out when it was all over with the hap- 
piest light on their faces, and though their hearts 
were only conscious of each other they paused to 
return the kind wishes of their friends. Among 
these was Fra Tommaso, beaming with satisfied 
benevolence. Rinaldo drew him aside and slipped a 
gold piece into his hand. ‘‘ Fra Tommaso mio,” he 
said, with some show of contrition, I have a sad con- 
fidence to make to you, and since this is a festal day, 
please promise me your pardon.” 

‘‘ You do not look very sorry about it, signorino,” 
replied the old man. What are you giving me gold 
for. Here, take it back. You owe me nothing.” 

“ Oh yes, I do,” said Rinaldo. ‘‘ I have several 
times occupied your loggia and paid nothing for it.” 

‘‘My loggia?” exclaimed the sacristan, “how 
could you have done that ? ” 

“ I got there — from mine,” was the reply, “ and 
when I found that I could see from there into my 
fidanzata’s window, well, I came again. I even spoke 


GIANNELLA 


351 


to her from there. Was not that a dreadful sin? 
But you must forgive me, and I will give you another 
beautiful pigeon, my Themistocles, who sometimes 
consented to carry a bit of a love letter. You will not 
give him that exercise, and he will grow fat and 
rejoice your heart with his funny tricks.’’ 

“ Themistocles ? He wear a silver collar ? He car- 
ried your love letters to the Biondina? Oh, God 
be praised. You have lifted a weight from my soul.” 
And Fra Tommaso clasped his hands and raised thank- 
ful eyes to heaven. 

“ What do you mean ? Explain ! ” cried Rinaldo, 
puzzled beyond expression. 

No,” said Fra Tommaso, ‘‘ I shall not tell you. 
But you cost me my dinner one day, O assassin, and 
many tears. Bad boy,” and he laughed happily, I 
will keep the money now and spend it in Masses for 
the Holy Souls whom I have teased with most un- 
necessary prayers. There run along to your sposina, 
and do not send me that evil bird — he would finish 
in my soup.” 

Peppino was beckoning and Rinaldo, hurried 
aWay, leaving the problem unsolved. In five minutes 
he had forgotten all about it, for the Cardinal had 
sent the chaplain down to say that he wished to see 
the sposini and give them his blessing. The bride- 
groom’s supporters paused on the threshold of the 
prelate’s apartment, but the chaplain drove them all 
in and the Cardinal, after greeting Rinaldo and Gian- 
nella, had a cheery word for everyone, and especially 
for Peppino, whom he had not had a chance to thank 


352 


GIANNELLA 


for his share in the memorable rescue, and whose 
bright face and roguish smile delighted his heart. 
For his friend Bianchi he had the warmest of wel- 
comes, a little allusion to their common interests, a 
remark about their last interview, to show all con- 
cerned, in the most delicate way, that the Professor 
was still his honored friend. 

Then he had some gifts to distribute; for ‘‘ Botti’s 
Mariuccia’’ a rosary blessed by the Pope and a sprig 
of olive from Gethsemane, gifts which he knew would 
be most precious to the unlearned, faithful heart, and 
she wept for joy on receiving them and on finding 
that her feudal lord remembered her name. When the 
chaplain began to lead the visitors away to refresh 
them with coffee and sweetmeats, the Cardinal called 
Rinaldo and Giannella to his side. Opening a drawer 
in the table, he took out a small case and gave it to 
Giannella, saying that his sister had sent it for her, 
with all good wishes for her happiness. Within lay 
a beautiful miniature of Guido Reni’s Addolorata and 
a few words in the Princess’s own handwriting, pious 
felicitations, through which glowed something quite 
warm and kindly, and the request with which Teresa 
Santafede’s epistles always closed, “ Pray for me.” 

Giannella was touched and delighted. Only one 
good friend had been silent on this happy day, dear 
Signora Dati “of good memery,” but Giannella had 
sent her a little message when she said her prayers 
that morning. Now, now that all was duly done 
and ended, her thoughts found answer in Rinaldo’s 
eyes. “ Andiamoci ? Shall we go together, we two 


GIANNELLA 


353 

who are one, shall we go into our garden of hap- 
piness? ” 

Ah, there were a few things to be seen to first. 
Mariuccia’s collation had to be enjoyed. The Pro- 
fessor, charmed with the new sensation of playing 
host to a gay young party, proposed healths; Sora 
Amalia, mindful of future patronage, climbed the 
stairs with an armful of flowers and a basket of fresh 
eggs, and was brought in and made to take part in the 
feast. Then Peppino, by some magic, produced 
Rinaldo’s new morning suit and effected for him a 
grateful transformation in the Professor’s bedroom. 
Giannella’s finery was covered with a crape shawl, for 
it would be bad luck for a bride to change her dress 
before she left her old home. Then the two were 
seen downstairs by all the boys, and packed into 
the carriage waiting to take them to Albano for a 
week’s honeymoon, which was to include the joy of a 
visit to Mamma Candida and the ever-dear Teresina 
and Annetta. 

** Madonna mia,” exclaimed Giannella as the car- 
riage passed out of the portone and Rinaldo, curiously 
shy now, drew her hand into his, ‘‘ who can support 
so much happiness ? ” 

Don Onorato, who had learned trouble and wisdom 
in the last three years, saw them pass. The story 
had all been told him by the maestro di casa. Beati 
loro ! ” he sighed, I am glad that poor little girl has 
had some good luck at last. I wonder if happiness 
will ever climb the grand staircase ? ” 

On the fourth landing of the third staircase the 


354 


GIANNELLA 


door was still open. Mariuccia listened till the last 
young footstep had died away, then she turned back 
into the passage and found herself face to face with 
the Professor. He looked at her sadly. Well,^ 
Mariuccia,” he said, ‘‘ I suppose you will want to go 
over to the appartamentino at once, so as to have all 
things ready when the sposini come back? Of course, 
there is much to do — I quite understand, and doubt- 
less that young woman you have engaged for me will 
be satisfactory. Still — if you could wait — for a 
day or two longer — ” He looked at her wistfully. 

Mariuccia laughed, but the laugh was a little shaky, 
A day or two longer ? ” she repeated, as she untied 
her lace apron and began to fold it up. ‘‘ Another 
twenty years, if God wills. Did you think I was 
going to leave this quiet house and that noble kitchen 
to have my head worried off my shoulders by two 
children who will laugh and chatter all day and 
never remember the hours of their meals till they are 
hungry? No, no, padroncino mio. The young wom- 
an is for them, she will laugh and chatter with them — 
youth with youth. There will be three babies — till 
the Madonna sends them a fourth. As for you and 
me, we stay together. Do you figure to yourself that 
I would trust you, and your linen, and your digestion 
— to a stranger ? Dove mai ? What an idea ! Come 
take off those beautiful clothes that I may put them 
away. Your others are all ready on the bed in there. 
You will not want any dinner now, after all those 
‘ gingilli ’ and sweet wines — but this evening you 


GIANNELLA 


355 


shall have — let me see — a fritto dorato — but of 
those! Eh, padroncino mio? It will be like old 
times, just you and me! ” 




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